Myrika is by me!
No, we're not, she agreed. The truth of that was written in the cringing; the averted eyes and sometimes the looks, more terrible; the strange distance Myrika did not know how to begin bridging -- if indeed it could be bridged. She would have done anything, if only she knew where to begin. Perhaps her sister could not provide this knowledge herself, though. Maybe the only way to fix things -- to the degree they could be -- was to leave herself.
There were too many things binding her to this place now, least of all her leadership -- maybe she might have left months ago, before Vesper and before leadership, before the deaths she'd inflicted. She looked over with blue-green eyes, trying to will something into existence which might change or help things. There were so many silly and useless material things she could have piled atop the cloak, but perhaps in giving them, she would have given her guilt form and substance -- physical reminders of the absence and its petty attempt at atonement.
The tawny-hued coyote moved, with exaggerated slowness, to put an arm around the pale form. I don't think you're fine, either. Her voice was very quiet, for she did not think asking again or being less than satisfied with avoidance or silence right, but she needed to try. She could not disagree with "will" -- the future was not hers to divine. But just now, she did not think Cassie was just fine. There was more than just lost time and broken promises in the schism.
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