He remained quiet and still, a gargoyle that breathed but did not move, and watched. His breathing was steady, even, and his gaze never once left the doggish male that had come to speak to his sister. Gabriel did not believe that these people were his enemy—yet he was wary none the less. Largely, this was how the Aquila behaved around all strangers. More so when his sister, whom had been so wounded, was involved. For this reason he had come with her and remained in her shadow, an ominous black streaked beast that did not speak and stared with holy fire.
Only once did he consider speaking, but Rikka had found her voice once more. Then the dog-wolf (for in Gabriel’s mind, he was a dog first) spoke what needed to be heard. Almost instantly, Gabriel was on his feet. After waiting for the mottled man to leave, he turned to his sister. “Well,” the Aquila exhaled, face somber. “You take care of yourself. I don’t want to have to patch you up again.” Though serious, his face broke into a tired smile and his voice was warm.
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