quite eradicated
--
Something stirred.
Ezekiel stilled, half-bent over a downed bird. His ears swiveled high and formed a blood-colored crown atop his head. His muscles tightened involuntary, as if they sensed the thing he did not. The wind spoke, but Ezekiel had long ago forgotten its language. Once he had felt the earth move under his feet. Now all he had was what he could touch, and feel, and he trusted those things that bled—he recognized that as the only true religion. God did not speak to him. God was cruel.
A single yank pulled the arrow from the grouse. Ezekiel cleaned the tip in the grass and sheathed it in his quiver. With the feathered thing in hand, he followed the instinctive pull towards the borders.
He saw her from the distance and imagined it was another wraith. Yet he recalled her, for those eyes were his own—they were his father’s eyes. Still and silent, he watched her. Did she remember him? She had been a peculiar child even then.
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