Bobbi!
After so many months of winter, spring had finally made its way into Nova Scotia. This made the low points of the land soggy with melted snow and ice, water-logged in the worst depths. Luckily, the majority of The Waste was rocky and dry—Ezekiel practiced here as opposed to the new territories because it was familiar. Both of his companions had been dismissed for the day, and the coyote had filled his own schedule with one thing—practice. It had been too long since he had done so, and while he used the bow daily, other lessons needed to be relearned.
His body was still, though his chest rose and fell steadily from previous exertion. Ezekiel’s body shifted its weight, feet splaying into a fighter’s stance as his center dropped. The motion he used came quickly. A series of clawed jabs struck out at an invisible opponent, followed by a quick turn and a low backwards kick from one large foot. He moved easily from one leg to another, never letting his balance change despite the motion. Once the movement was finished, he relaxed; a frown appeared on his scarred face, as though displeased by his regiment.
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