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Myrika is by me!
She could not remain within the Great Village forever. Myrika knew that quite well, and so it was that she'd set out a few times over the past few days, making her scent more known about Inferni. She could not sequester herself forever, and the tawny-furred coyote knew this well. Yet, she meandered along the coast, trying to avoid the caverns and the mansion so she might not encounter other coyotes -- her scent would be around Inferni; need her face and voice be, as well? The borders, then -- she could stalk them on two legs as she'd done so infrequently as a scout.
The tawny-furred hybrid wore the shorter and smaller of her skirts, finding it a buffer against the chill. Though it was not yet winter, there was cold in the wind, especially the breeze blowing in from the bay. As she walked, it tore at her hair and fur, flattening the skirt against one thigh and beating it against the other. She threw and arm against it angrily and paused to slide the bandanna around her neck up and over her hair so that it held her hair back. Fixed, she carried onward, occasionally throwing a baleful glance toward the water. It wasn't the bay she was angry with, it wasn't anyone she was really angry with -- well, no one she could picture, anyway.
She was not long in walking when she spied a brown horse up ahead, with a smaller and lighter form up ahead of it. Myrika paused and almost turned around, remembering the strangeness of Willam's last request -- to change her name? Myrika could not have said no, but she didn't really want to say yes -- much less command Willam make such a change -- herself. Yet she had pored over the gift carefully and it was thoughts of that -- laboriously written pages, its binding luxurious in comparison to the crude stitching of the Infernian history book -- which made her press onward, even forcing a smile and pricking her ears upward in friendliness.
He's stuck good, huh? Myrika said, smiling.
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