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Myrika is by me!
Her curled fists twitched several times throughout, and she jerked all over when Cassie laughed, though it was not a gesture of surprise. She was dimly aware of tingling numbness in her hands from the force of her clutching them together, tingling in her fingers as she tightened them so much she thought tendons would surely snap and bones crack under the pressure. Her teeth ground together and clenched so forcefully she was surprised they did not shatter and tumble, in hundreds of miniscule pieces, from her muzzle.
She sprang to her feet and paced rapidly to the end of the room. She turned around and paced back, then back again, though this second time she stopped midway through the room, and abruptly turned to smash both hands into the desk. The bone jumped off its surface and landed awkwardly, clattering to the floor a moment later. Myri wanted to put her head through its surface, too, and kick it to pieces -- she wanted to destroy something, but her strength was not so great against the desk. The single strike aching through both hands and reverberating through her arms and even up to her shoulders was enough to temper her anger -- she'd never really known real anger until now -- at least to the point of control.
The Aquila hissed a breath out of her nose, still clenching her teeth too hard to even open her mouth. She wished she did have a pet monster to send seeking after these creatures. She did not know a word foul or cruel enough by which to name them, but she wished she could burn their bodies and hang bones all the same. She had killed to protect and defend her home and her cousin before, but she had not wanted to. This impotent desire for simple malice was new to her. She wanted very much to reject and hate that desire, to turn away from it and consider herself above it, but staring into the wood grain of the desk, she realized she could not -- and relented, relishing it and letting it sink into her.
No, no, no, she said, and six or seven times more, when her tongue returned. She was still staring down at the surface of the desk, glowering and glaring as if her eyes could burn through it. She straightened, though, with the cessation of the single word, and turned back toward her sister. The sandy-furred coyote crouched down again in front of her sister, wanting very much to touch and hold and hug.
It's not your fault. None of it. She gave in to only a light touch on the uninjured arm, acquiescing readily to the possibility of a flinch or even worse reaction. Please don't think like that, she whimpered, pleading with a thought process she did not know how to otherwise combat. Given a hundred years of uninterrupted thought, Myri might have been able to deconstruct just why and even put it to words, but she hadn't so many years to live and there was only the deeply set knowledge that Cassie and any other faulting themselves for such acts of violation was wrong.
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