Myrika is by Aly!
Sparrow didn't seem to understand the gesture, but Myrika didn't press her luck; she dropped her hand, uncertain as to whether she should try to comfort the other woman physically, but listened to her intently all the same, growing concern as the tried to piece together the earthen-hued coyote's broken speech. She leaned forward and both large coyote ears pricked upwards to hear the woman as her voice dropped. Though Myrika had questions abound, she forced her muzzle to remain shut and let the yellow-eyed woman finish speaking.
No, please, she started, loudly objecting to the woman's apology. Please, don't apologize, she continued, more softly. It's okay, I'll help you. You're -- you don't like shifting, the redhead concluded, turquoise eyes trying to catch Sparrow's once again. Were you hurt when -- the first time? Is that how you mean? I'm sorry you lost your mother, too. I don't know mine, either -- she left when I was very young, and she might still be dead. You're not alone, the hybrid offered, knowing there were no words to soothe such a wound; she could make only the paltry offering of communal sorrow and shared misery.
Myrika paused to motion to the ground. The grass was springy and dry, and it felt good beneath her. What can I do to help? Do you just want to talk? Myri supposed she could shift for Sparrow and show her the process was painless, and perhaps that might ease her fears -- words were powerful, too, and the Praetorian believed they might be of use here.
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