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A SYLVEY THREAD O:
Myrika had left her horse to run loose in the gardens of the D'Neville mansion. The fence was in good condition, strong enough to hold a horse, and the tawny-hued woman thought the equine would be too preoccupied with the other animals in the stables and running about the gardens to care much. Part of Myri secretly hoped Eira would take to foal with one of the big stallions: there were at least three she could count. One was chestnut and massive, the other black with odd white markings, and a third Appaloosa, all tan and white splotches. Most of the other were mares, and Myrika did not think Eira would have difficulty befriending the other horses. Farai would have a ball, she had no doubt about that. Part of her wondered if the donkey had kept after horses before; it would not have surprised her. She wished she'd learned more of him from Thamur, but their conversations had never turned that way.
The forest surrounding the mansion seemed lush; Myri pondered its existence next to the seemingly endless plains to the west. This forest smelled of water and streams and bubbling, babbling life -- the scents of fifty or sixty prey animals, each of varing age and species, caught her nose. Her stomach growled faintly, but a thirst had caught in her throat, tickling the dryness there. Myrika did not know her new packlands so well yet -- she had been here only a week or two, after all -- but she knew water when she smelled it. Trotting along quickly, the woman meandered after that wet and now intoxicating scent, very nearly stumbling on the small, quick stream before long. She knelt beside it, cupping her hands and pouring back into her tapered muzzle as best she could. The water dripped down the sides of her mouth, but Myri paid it very little attention; she was not wearing her bandana today, and so it did not matter.
She looked up just in time to see a fairly decomposed and thoroughly soaked bird's corpse float by, and she watched it with astonishment. The fact that she had been drinking from the very same stream did not cross her mind, and she burst out laughing at the sight of it, eyeless and utterly macabre, bobbing merrily along in the stream. She did not hear the other canine until the tawny child seemed nearly upon her; only then did Myrika recall herself and stifle her laughter, peering curiously toward the stranger. Hello, she said, albeit cautiously. She had pitiably little experience with children; most of her memories of them were memories of occasionally cruel Thornloe children.
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