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Myrika is by me!
The coyote listened to her sister with half-lifted ears, glancing toward her now and again. Although the question she'd asked was answered, there was more left unsaid. Cassie provided only the driest account of what had occurred -- free of detail, memory, and emotion. Perhaps it was better for both of them that way, but Myrika could not help but shift position uncomfortably again, acutely aware of her own uselessness. The littlest part of her wanted to rage up and down the halls, pitch the chairs stacked haphazardly in the largest room, tear things down -- but she had learned some semblance of composure long before Ezekiel began conditioning her, and she knew too well the uselessness of any angry display.
She had to quite literally bite back the promise and offer of safety. The words were almost there when she clenched her jaws tight and swallowed them. They burned bitterly, but Myrika held them back all the same. She could not absolutely guarantee safety -- her time as an Aquila had been peaceful, but then it had not been very long at all, and she knew well enough the history of her clan. Try as she might, Myrika could not definitively say her clan was one of non-violence.
I should have... she stopped and groped for the words. Searched harder after the storm, taken her horse and left the farm, chased after the first faint wisp of Cassie's scent on the borders, and several hundred other possibilities occurred to her all at once. Done lots of things, she finished, morosely. I should have done lots of things. She shuffled closer, using the far arm to push herself over. The redhead wanted the closeness, but she didn't know if she dared reach out an arm and hold. She wished, too, that the asshole had followed her sister to Inferni, or chosen to attack her nearer, in the least. She would have let her coyotes string his corpse on the borders to rot.
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