Private. Mid-afternoon, heading to Eden. Word Count » +3
Talitha’s expedition had cleared the majority of the traps that plagued the clan, but Enkiel had been cautious since. Whoever had gone through the effort of placing such destructive things was certainly carrying a grudge, and the desperate were often pushed to madness. This he knew from experience. His mother, after all, had dragged her children from their home and across two oceans to find their father. The jackal frowned. What foolishness, to think they might have found a god. Only he and his kin could claim such titles, but they were gods in respite. Until they passed on, they would remain mortal in body.
Red eyes scanned the territory, its familiar rolling hills and rocky terrain welcome. Enkiel had not left the clan since he had joined it. He had no purpose outside of its borders, and he would not fare well against an angry wolf. Certainly, he carried a dagger, but what would that do? He was thin and not made for war. This is why he had taken his path, one that most certainly suited him now.
It had been about half an hour since he had left the Mansion, leaving Sa’adat to tend to Talitha’s children (again) with the promise of bringing her fresh herbs for tea. She had all but commandeered the right to do so from him, insisting fervently he was awful at such a thing. For as submissive as she could be around men, when it came to matters of the home, she was like a cobra. Still, he found a begrudging admiration for her growing. How peculiar.
The soft scuttling behind him had continued since his departure, a thing he had tried to ignore. Finally, irritated, the scout turned and spotted his tracker not far behind. “Symera,” his deep voice came, always smooth, always controlled. “Did you wish to join me?”
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