328 oof, right in the feels
Myrika is by Alaine!
Her experiences seemed trivial in comparison. How much a child she still felt, still was -- her crucible was as she'd told her sister, the farm and Tyveni and Lami. There was not so much hurt or horror in that, and she felt foolish for having shared it. Then again, it had brought her to the question and the conversation. As a pathway, maybe it wasn't so bad -- at least she had some sore spot to share.
She shifted and readily moved closer when beckoned, turning to put an arm around Cassie. Her turquoise eyes lingered on the difference in coat -- drab earthen tones and metal rust against a moon-hued color, pale as bone. She wished she might have traded places; she would not have been a goddess, and her purity would not have mattered. If her sister had been the one in the cabin, perhaps -- she would have listened and learned from Thamur in Myrika's stead. They could not go back, and even if the awful things had not befallen her sister, things would have been different, all the same.
We will, she agreed. She would make it so, no matter what needed to be done. There would be cost -- life and blood, most likely, but Myrika would pay both gladly for Cassandra's continued safety. We'll kill for it, some small and sour voice, perhaps her conscience, muttered. Myrika ignored it and only smiled. She wanted to apologize, repeat the things she'd said in a more coherent fashion, but she could not rouse the energy, and only looked at the smaller coyote adoringly, trying -- and miserably failing -- to convey in look what all her words couldn't.
It was good to rest; her body felt heavy from lack of sleep or turbulence of life or, more probably, both. The tawny-furred coyote refused sleep, however enticingly it called, and blinked rapidly to keep herself awake, occasionally shifting an arm or leg. In the end, she lost the fight. Her head nodded to the side and rested against the uninjured shoulder of her sister, cerulean eyes closing shortly thereafter.
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