370
Myrika is by me!
She tried very hard not to think about the wolves on the border, or the wolves that had attacked their home. It was easy to pretend she was alright with killing in defense -- and easier still to act. In the moment, there was no time to think and query morality whether an action was right or wrong. There was only to act and react, or die. She had not wanted this last, as any living creature was so inclined, and so she had fought and killed.
And, better than that -- she had, by some dumb luck, escaped these conflicts unscathed. Halo's wolf had never had a chance -- perhaps without Myrika's jaws, even, she might have fallen dead to the ground. Ithiel's arrows were lethal in that way. But the Boreas wolves should have scarred her; instead, she'd received only cuts and scrapes, the worst of her wounds already hidden by regrown fur. Maybe if she wore some scar, as everyone else seemed to, it wouldn't be quite so bad? It was a silly way to think, and sillier still to contemplate her appearance in such a manner after striving so long to make it acceptable -- though to whom, Myri wouldn't have been able to answer.
But as it turned out, she needn't dwell on either Halo's wolf or the Boreas wolves, for her sister left that where it was. The redhead could not decide whether this was better or worse, but was relieved nonetheless when no further explanation was asked -- and then, guilty for feeling relieved. It's okay. You don't have to thank me, she said, and then her ears went half-mast as she winced visibly. There had been too much Aquila in that -- perhaps she was forgetting how to speak as herself.
I mean, she said, shifting over so she could sit where she had before leaving the room. You're here. I'll do whatever I can. Hell, I'll sew you new pockets. She had been preparing to launch into an explanation of how she'd learned to do that to begin with when she remembered -- I do like the quiet -- and thought better of it.
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