that boy is a monster

Ezekiel de le Poer · 06-13-2011, 07:16 PM

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+5 - This is backdated to June 8th, early afternoon.

The bandage on his arm hid the wound, but Ezekiel could only ignore it for so long. His face, as dark and unsettled as the storm-clouds above him, crinkled the closer he got to the south. Wind whipped the scents of the sea and the city at him, but Ezekiel rode by Halifax without stopping. He had no desire to tarry.

Above him the sky darkened to an ugly gray-purple, the air alive with rising electricity. Viggo, sensing this as well, snorted and began to prance nervously. Ezekiel tried to reassure him, but the stallion had a fear of storms that no amount of reasoning could change. Like it or not, Ezekiel was forced to find shelter. They were lucky—the Chebucto Peninsula offered a still-standing picnic shelter that had since become overgrown. It was covered in moss and vines and the concrete floor was all but grass, but this served the pair of animals well. Ezekiel hunched at the edge of the roof and sulked while Viggo continued his erratic behavior. The coyote had held his head together until now, but trapped, the thoughts he had done his best to outrun caught up to him.

Anguish and anger boiled through his blood, forcing lead into his belly and choking his senses with regret. The young man began to shiver against the wind until a single sound escaped him; that choking thing let lose a torrent of body-wracking sobs. The noises were terrible and unstoppable. Even the rain and thunder could not hide them. Despite his own terror, Viggo approached cautiously, velvety nose seeking his owner in an attempt to discern what was wrong. Ezekiel clung to his large head and wept, thankful for the presence of another living thing. The world had become so very cold.

Finally, exhausted, Ezekiel settled. He released the horse with a mumbled word of thanks, and was answered by the stallion lowering himself to lie next to the coyote. Grateful, the Aquila curled up into the animal’s massive frame and was asleep within minutes.

The morning was clear and warm, and Ezekiel rode in silence. He had steeled himself for what lay ahead and his face and body had warped into a solid steel construct. Like a golem he came with death behind him, and like a soldier he faced it with forced indifference. It did not matter that he had killed. His hand had been forced then, as it was being forced now.

Slowing the horse at the edge of the borders the Aquila stared ahead in silence. This would be the end of it; after today he would never be able to face her again, never be able to see the children that belonged to his father and shared his blood. Hatred for his sister muddled through his blood but it did not show on his face. Amber eyes sharpened and a wall formed within them. He called for her for what would be the last time, and the iron in his voice echoed this fact.

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