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Myrika is by James!
For most of her life, Myrika had worked at being the opposite of strong and large. Her stature -- or perhaps the reaction to her stature in adolescence -- made her want to hunch and lower herself, though she'd almost thoroughly defeated this instinctive cringing since arriving in Inferni. Though she stood taller, the redhead had yet to give up her attempts at daintiness. Clumsy and galumphing lout she was, the woman at least made attempts to make herself less conspicuous of size.
Yet, when the hybrid extended her arm, with the hand carefully cupping the salt, to take Salvia's own and felt its strength, she perceived daintiness was not the best course readily. One needn't read an ancient business tome on the etiquette of handshakes in order to ascertain this. This shake, this motion -- Myrika understood it to be the same as the old ones. This was the same show of power in two canines coming to meet together with fangs out and fur bristling, the show of dominance preceding -- and often precluding -- real violence in the struggle for hierarchy.
Although she did return the grip, the woman was struck for a moment in thought and surprise both, and was perhaps a second or two late in response. Of course. He's accompanied me to the borders before, she said, wary of allowing her cousin private audience with this foreign dignitary. Though Ithiel was obedient to her as he'd been to Ezekiel, she did not trust him not to offend Salvia and Salsola both with only a few words. No words, no long ceremony? she said, smiling, when the shaking was done and the salt spilled to the earth together, unable to be separated. My sort of ritual.
She was thoughtful on reflection of this. There was little enough she knew about their neighbors, other than that they'd fought together. There hadn't been treachery on Salsola's part: on the contrary, they'd worked together and split the spoils evenly. Although -- perhaps this was more due to Ezekiel than anything else? The thought stuck quietly in the back of her mind.
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