so many lost when the west was won.


As Myrika carried forward, she became aware of another's presence. Her head twisted back and she spied the small form of Symera. The tawny-hued woman smiled at the girl's appearance in Optime form. It was as petite and slim as her Lupus form; Myrika was surprised to realize Sy was of age to shift. She would never have guessed. A laugh erupted from her muzzle at the question, and her turquoise eyes glittered with amusement. The russet-splash along her muzzle crinkled, and her tail swished back and forth happily. She pulled Eira to a slow stop, and the horse twisted her head around to peer curiously at the smaller Infernian. She nickered softly, and watched the other canine. There was no suspicion in Eira; the horse was calm.

Farai would sooner throw me than carry me, she explained, her tail still twitching. You can come up here and sit, if you'd like. Eira can carry your weight and mine, Myrika offered, extending a hand downward toward the ground and Symera. The little coyote was just so tiny -- Eira would have no problem carrying her little bit of extra weight. The horse swished her own steel gray tail and nickered toward Symera, a soft chortle rumbling in her throat.

A sound caught the woman's ears, and she twisted her head around, spying a stranger atop a horse. Myrika's gaze focused on this other, smiling already. This woman seemed surprised by Symera, and Myrika wondered why, though she did not inquire; rather, she smiled at the stranger's first question, nodding an affirmative to the second. I was thinking the sheep along the Bass River might be a good investment of time and effort, she said, thinking of the wool, the hide, the meat.

I'm Myrika Tears, and yes -- her grand-daughter, the woman continued, though the sentence sat strangely on her tongue. She was not used to having a grandmother, no. She had met the woman, she had seen the red splash on her graying muzzle, but she still could not quite believe it. Even for a grandmother, the coyote was old.

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