clouds are spitting dust.

Myrika Tears · 12-15-2011, 09:46 AM

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Form	Info Date: 19 Dec (f-dated) Time: Noon Words: 444
Great Village

One or two from Inferni, fasterish replies?

Of the great many things Myrika Tears enjoyed, chief among them was reading. In her estimation, little else fascinating quite like escaping into another world entirely. She herself enjoyed writing, though she was not quite so good at it as these people had been. Where there sentences and ideas flowed like water over the page and through their words, hers were chunky and stilted, her only characters based in reality and history. She had never attempted fiction -- her only writings had been copying the works of others, in practice and learning, and this adventure with Inferni's history.

Though there was a faint skin of ice over each puddle and pond these mornings, Myrika was comfortably seated next to her small fire, tucked beneath one of her larger pelts. The morning, though cold, was too beautiful not to enjoy, and the red-haired woman had spent a long time simply watching the world spin, listening to the birds sing their morning songs. She had done further work on the book of Inferni, jotting down what had transgressed at this past meeting on scratch parchment and tucking it into the book's pages. She could always scrub out the cheap coal ink she used for such scraps, so it did not bother her to use paper in such a seemingly frivolous manner.

When the sun caught noon, the rusty coyote had closed her book and stretched her legs. The fire had gone to ember, but the cold of morning had disappeared, too; along with it, most of the fog had crept back, waiting in its shallows and hollow places in the earth to bubble forth again. Her cerulean eyes shifted to the fire, and an uncommon urge seized her. The woman shed both the pelt she hunkered beneath as well as the scarf around her neck, loosening the necklace so it could accommodate a wider neck.

With that, she shifted into her Lupus form, assuming paws rather than hands and four legs rather than a pair of legs and a pair of arms. The transformation took a few long moments, and Myrika moved to and fro even in her half-shifted form, eager to run. When she was finished changing form, the rust-hued woman darted forward, prancing eagerly as she held her nose to the ground, seeking Eira's scent. She'd released the horse some time ago, and now trotted after her scent trail, catching up and giving chase to the horse after not too long. It had been some time since they played like this, but the roan picked up the game again instantly, galloping speedily away from her four-legged owner.

Myrika is by Nat!

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