The wolf, Ezekiel soon realized, was hardly more than a boy. He was startled and scared and as the Aquila closed the distance between them, tripped and fell flat on his face. Ezekiel’s expression twisted from one of aggression into a perplexed look. While his approach did not falter, he showed only the typical signs of dominance now; he was not snapping his teeth. A black tipped tail waved high behind him, and large red paws trotted easily over familiar ground as he circled the child.
Extending his neck, the Aquila sniffed at the wolfish child. He didn’t smell like any of the packs Ezekiel knew, and he clearly had no idea where he was (if he had, he might not have come). The golden coy-wolf drew his head back and cocked it slightly. “Are you alright?” He asked, doubting the child was anything close to a threat.
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