your father was a priest

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-16-2011, 11:15 PM

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Unlike his father, Ezekiel had quickly learned that a smile was far more disarming than bared teeth. He manipulated others by sending mixed messages with these expressions—bared teeth but a friendly face, subtle challenges in body language that would often be misconstrued. While he was still ultimately golden at heart, Ezekiel had seen the world for what it was. His lack of trust in others was balanced by a faith that there was good in the world. This tightrope walk of faith was one he had struggled with in the past, but from the way he treated this woman and her bastard children, it was apparent he often left doubt and resentment behind.

Each of these children were pieces of this woman and his father, and he recognized that within them was potential, both good and bad. He did not miss eyes much like his own glaring at him, nor forget about the blue-eyed boy’s peculiar behavior. Odette was not of his blood, so he did not give her much thought. In this simple, brutal way, he had learned to survive.

At the woman’s question he shrugged the bow off. It was wooden and finely made, without any intricacies besides the variation in woods. The truly beautiful work was the wolverine-pelt quiver on his back, with its beaded charm and feathers. “It’s actually very simple,” he explained. “I usually try to spook birds into the air. Most of them are stupid and fly right into the arrow.” He had talked with Marlowe about the behavior of birds and the raven had told him that except for raptors and corvids, there was little intelligence in his species. His golden-yellow eyes sharpened slightly, hinting at the very capable predator he was in truth. Solitude had made him that way.

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