The fire. Oh he remembered the fire. It had begun with matches and gasoline and the Will of an angry, loving God. God had started that fire. God had touched Gabriel and made him holy. Since that day he had not heard the Voice. It was better that way. When the Lord spoke, Gabriel had to obey. Once he had left, and twice he had burned. Neither of these outcomes would have settled well with him now.
“I liked it,” he answered honestly. “The days were hot and the nights freezing. We spent a lot of time waiting, and a lot of time fighting. When we did relax it was fun, but there wasn’t much of that.” He had enjoyed his time there with Eli and Jezebel, but they were fleeting ghosts and he feared they might have since passed on. Ignoring this doubt, he flicked one ear dismissively. “I like Scintilla, but it wasn’t home. When I came back things had changed very little—I fought another war under your grandmother, and took her place when she went chasing after Eris. You were born not long after that, though I doubt you and your brother remember the old territory. It wasn’t all that different than here, though.”
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