Dominance, like the pride, was a part of his blood. It had come from his father, and his father before him. So in a way, Gabriel himself was made up of ghosts. When his mother died, she would live through his eyes. The bloodline of both families had been secured through other means. Coyotes, wolves, it no longer mattered. Some children would not carry the name. His bastard sons were an example. He had abandoned them to their mother long before they were born, and he did not doubt she would make them her own. Even he could see that need in her.
He could not read Tayui’s eyes. The coy-wolf frowned at this, though it might have been at her response, and turned his head back to the landscape below them. “As has mine. It must be the wind,” he added semi-sarcastically. His daughter had returned, yes, but she was not the girl he remembered. None of his family was these days. Yet they slunk into patterns that made them avoidable, slunk into the roles that required nothing from them and prospered. Gabriel’s face twisted, exposing one eye-tooth to the world, and he exhaled in a sigh that was almost a growl.
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