(1018) Let me know if I've got her bible desc wrong? :c
Myrika is by me!
The redhead listened with rapt attention as the silvery canine expounded upon her system of belief. It was inordinately relieving for Myrika to hear her openness to other systems of beliefs. Ithiel had not been one to proselytize, either, but his answers to the harder questions she posed always dealt with his higher power or his book, too. Perhaps it would be the same with Willam -- Myri made a mental note not to engage in too hefty a debate with her, as she did not feel comfortable challenging the woman the way she had Ithiel. It was different now, too -- when she and Ithiel had spoken, they had been at a level with one another, relative equals of rank. Now? Myrika was an Aquila and Willam's leader, and her word carried more weight. She would not have her Infernians thinking she sought to squash belief out of them. The place Myrika envisioned was one far more welcoming and open than the Inferni spun by her childhood: though now, the woman did think she understood it better. It was a defensive mechanism and little else. There was blood splashed across the pages of her history book, to be sure, but this place was not the bloodthirsty and terrible place she had been lead to believe. At least, not anymore, anyway.
She found herself nodding with the familiarity of the words Willam spoke about the deity and took the offered book in her hands gingerly. It was beautifully bound, albeit in well-worn condition. There was evidence of many hundreds -- perhaps thousands -- of readings. The hybrid ran her fingers over the cover, following the faded letters. Perhaps they had once been metallic gold or silver, Myri could not tell. Now only the faintest dust of lettering, along with the indentations where there had once been letters. She had held a book like this before. That book had been a belonging of Ezekiel, however, and it was as gone as he was. The woman's smile faded back into an expression of concentration as Willam continued. Her ears pricked at the words of fire: funeral pyres were not altogether unknown to Myri, but burials seemed more common. Burial was what Myri had always assumed would happen to her body upon her death -- but cremation was an end, too, wasn't it?
There were things Myrika understood, and things Myrika did not understand mixed in with what Willam said, but the overarching theme, the resounding message she picked up from the woman's speech, was that she needed guidance and direction. This surprised Myrika more than anything the Scorpius had said aloud: as a creature raised in relative freedom, unused to structure except that of Inferni, it had never occurred to Myri before that some might be more comfortable with a directive than the freedom for choice. She considered a long moment with a tilt of her head, imagining what it would be like with an omnipresent voice whispering in her ear. Surely, things would be made easier in part -- she'd always know what to do. There would be no more panicking and second-guessing herself. There was also a seed of fear, however, along with the curiosity Myrika felt at considering this. She could not imagine being so restricted in choice -- her imagining of la Chemin was a place of incredibly rigorous structure, unbending and unbreakable. It was frightening in a way Myrika could not quite grasp or put into words, though she would not speak so out of respect for Willam's dead.
At long last, the silvery-coated coyote ceased speaking, and Myrika herself did not know what to say for a moment. Finally, she breathed outward and smiled, handing the book back toward Willam. I've read your book already -- but perhaps I should do so again, she said. But I wouldn't take your copy away from you -- there's one in the D'Neville's library. You should have yours, if you need it to read and pray each day. There was gratitude in her voice, for there was nothing Myrika enjoyed better than a book, but she would not have Willam go through all the trouble of arduously copying the manual -- though. Copying... she can write, Myrika realized, remembering what Willam had spoken. Memorization and copying. I think I understand what you're saying. You'd rather I just told you what to do now, Myri said, thinking even as she spoke.
What did she want from Inferni? More specifically, what did she want of each individual coyote? I can't imagine I'd get mad at you for much. Protect our borders, don't betray Inferni, and don't screw up anything with the other packs too badly, she said. They were light-hearted instructions, but the hybrid meant each one -- they were the clan's laws, after all. That last one would probably be the hardest. I guess Inferni's not supposed to give much thought to what you do outside of the clan's territory, but I'm trying to play nicely with our neighbors so they leave us alone. Just don't bring anyone down on our heads, she added, still smiling. I promise you won't make anyone mad if you decide to sleep in, or if you get up at a different time each day, or if you only come out at night. Any which way, she said, using the time of rising as a specific example for the broader ways Inferni was generally indifferent to the day-to-day minutiae of the coyotes' daily lives.
Any questions? she asked, sticking both hands on her hips and doing her best impression of a kindly teacher. She was afraid to be too harsh with the coyotes of the clan, in truth -- and she knew eventually that would lead to trouble, but for now, Myrika was content to ease herself into the role of Aquila. There would be no stringent dictation of every second of the average Infernian's day while Myrika sat at the head of the clan.
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