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Myrika Tears · 01-01-2012, 05:50 AM

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Myrika is by Bobbi!

And that's where the skull-hanging tradition comes from, the scarred woman said, stamping her foot against the porch for emphasis. Her one golden eye glittered in her face as she looked upon Myrika, who listened with interest. She scratched notes into a piece of rawhide scratch paper; later, she would rinse the light coal-based ink from the parchment so she could write upon it again and again. Such was the usefulness of thick, durable paper. It could be reused in such a manner without wastefulness. For her part, the redhead nodded earnestly, scribbling onto the paper as quick as her hand would allow. It was messy writing, and Myrika doubted anyone but she herself would be able to read it, but it worked.

So it was more Gabriel's idea than yours, she mused, and the old woman nodded. It just happened when I lead Inferni as Aquila, so I think everyone just assumes it was me. No -- that was brought back from Scintilla with Gabriel, Kaena said, rather plainly. There was no harshness to her correction, but perhaps a bit of begrudging -- maybe Kaena liked being accredited with the gruesome bone practice. The one-eyed hybrid looked to the edge of the gardens, cocking her head so the good ear pricked up more than her bad ear. Horse? she asked. Myrika's attention had been caught on that word Kaena used -- Scintilla. She had heard it before, numerous times now. Ithiel was from this place, and Myrika would have asked the old woman if she had encountered Ithiel yet, but the sounds of an approaching horse caught her attention, too.

With that, a raven swooped in to land on the porch rail, beady brown eyes regarding both of them with intelligence Myrika found eerie. Eira was smart for a horse, but her intelligence did not touch Ibsen's. The bird gave a raucous cry, fluffing its feathers and swooping down onto the porch itself, and Myrika grimaced, turning back to the approaching hoofbeats. Her oversized ears twitched, but she could not discern the horse from its gait. She could guess it was Ezekiel, though -- if the raven came before the man rather than of his own accord, that is.

The old hybrid stood, and a moment later, the tawny coyote did, as well, both of them looking toward the big chestnut stallion with Ezekiel on his back, and the darker mare trailing behind. Excitement tingled in Myrika at the sight of the spare horse and Ezekiel's obvious provisions, but she kept her face straight, and instead smiled warmly toward her Aquila. Before she could greet him, their grandmother barked her own hello. Should have guessed it was you, with that Marlowe-son crying your coming, the old woman said, a fierce grin twisting her scarred features, clear evidence of the joke at hand. Kaena was far more fond of the birds than Myrika.

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