your father was a priest

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-07-2011, 11:10 PM

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Ezekiel’s lean frame was not one that lacked definition. He was built out of woven steel cords of muscle, wrapped around bones that reflected his mostly-coyote blood. There was never any suspicion in him that he might become as large as his father, whom it seemed had taken after a section of the paternal heritage that had bulk. Certainly this was not his grandfather, long-dead, as Gabriel too outweighed him. His father had been made by a separate hand, one that required its deeds be done by a mortal. This much Ezekiel understood, and he had never thought to question why Gabriel looked so different then his family.

The boy was certainly interesting. Except for birds, Ezekiel had never seen someone turn their head so far. It was amusing, and he continued to smile at the merle dog-boy. The horse’s response was greeted with an enthusiastic grin, though his eyes flickered to the woman and saw her distress melt into puzzlement. It was just as well. Most people seemed confused when he spoke in the low-tongue, using noises and gestures that the beasts alone understood. Each species, he had realized on his journey, had different dialects. The horse was no exception, though it was easier because she understood some of the noises her own mistress made as far as their tone was concerned. Words, no, but patterns had been built and recognized. This was much the same way Ezekiel had learned to speak to the animals. He intended to use this same technique to teach his sister to read, hence some of the smaller books within his deer-belly sack.

As the horse dropped her head, Ezekiel felt warm breath on his arm and turned to it. He rubbed her velvety nose and murmured a few more words of encouragement, still wary of the large hooves. With two pups aboard, the horse soon became a noisy caravan of children. Yet it was Alaine’s voice that stole his eyes, drawing them to her long before her voice rose. His blood? A glance was passed to the boy, now sniffing at him, and only then did the same black mask connect with his father.

Slowly, the connection dawned. There was a moment of sharp and painful betrayal, but Ezekiel released this with one sigh. His father was simply a figure-head, his blood and nothing more. Family was made up of those who had since passed out of his life and a sister he felt he was losing every day. “I was told we share eyes,” he said. “You have known him,” the coyote added, lifting his face from the boy to look at her emerald eyes. He did not look at her with anything but kindness, all too aware how thin family became.

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