;__; I give Myri all my loves. Aaand I guess most of this is relevant even without longspeech. +608
There were footsteps in the schoolhouse, and the coyote’s heart beat at a pace normally reserved for near-death experiences. Her large ear swung forward then back again, and she waited until Myrika appeared in the doorframe—or fell into it, that was closer to the right verb. The awkwardness might have been endearing if not for the clear apprehension, and for a second there was something close to pain in the Centurion’s eyes. Had she caused this? Her mind flashed back to Juniper, the look in her eyes after Ves had murdered who was little more than a cocky boy, the clear refusal to go with someone who’d done something so heinous.
The memory was agonizing, and she almost fled; her weight shifted, and she drew in a shaky gulp of oxygen to power her flight. The weight of the wooden pendant in her head kept her still just as much as sheer willpower did, and she only took a step back. Her posture had changed, devoid of the faux confidence she always carried if she didn’t feel the real thing, showing her small size and even her age. She was, what, almost three years old? A few months younger than the woman before her? A luperci at her age was very much an adult, but it didn’t change the fact of how short a time she’d actually been on the planet as one.
Vesper had meant to ask Myri to walk with her, but that all went out the window when she realized she couldn’t ask any more than she had already. At the speedy phthisis of her plan, she was momentarily vulnerable—and then she straightened her back and inhaled again. She could keep on her toes in a fight, and now was no different, if the rhythm of her heart didn’t lie.
“I’m sorry,” the coywolf said heavily, and with those two words of her chest, it became easier to speak. “For the—our argument. Well, my argument; you never did anything wrong, and I was just being a bitch, because the fight with the poachers made me scared and I guess I get bitchy so no one knows I’m scared.” Her words were clumsy and unrehearsed, but they pulsed with sincerity. Her muzzle pointed to the ground with shame, her fingers playing along the edges of the wood horse and still obscuring it from view. “So it’s—it’s all my fault. And I don’t fault you if you just want our—whatever it is—to be just business if you don’t think you can deal with me.” She wondered if that was right to say, then shook her head and continued. “But I—I really like you. It sounds kind of…stupid, or cheesy, but I’ve never cared about another woman as much as I’ve cared about you. I mean, with them, it was easy to just be there if they wanted me to, and I didn’t care either way, but… I want to be with you, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Her hands continued to fumble, and it took an effort to stop their fidgeting. She hooked the cord with an index finger and lifted it, displaying the wood-carved horse. “And—this is for you, anyway. I don’t take credit for making it; one of our Tirones did, a kid who helped Helotes and I drive off the poachers for good.” She hesitated, more words on her tongue, but she swallowed them. She wasn’t made for long speeches, and even everything she’d said sounded wordy to her ears. So she gave a little careless, fragile shrug and concluded, “If you want it.”
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