quite eradicated
Even though he smiled, his mind was a thousand other places. Ezekiel was a man torn by leadership and doubt and fear, and he worried about this, and that, and he pushed all things down and out because he could only show confidence. Halo had tried to push him once. His uncle was dead. There were no others, but he fretted endlessly and spent nights in the dark, in silence, and wondered.
He began to take his weapons off, easing them with a speed that came from practice. Ezekiel listened to her as he did this, glancing up from under blonde-white hair. The pile of things (a dead animal quiver full of red-fletched arrows, a bag full of various artifacts, and a bow) was pushed to the side. Cracking his spine with one solid arch, the scarred coyote focused his attention on this newest and untested pupil.
“There are a few ways you can fight like this,” he began, and lifted his own red hands. They were the color of dried blood, he thought, and dismissed the idea. “But these are not your only weapon. Your whole body is a weapon. You still have teeth—you can still use them if someone gets that close. You have claws too,” he went on, and extended his own. They were the color of dirty sand. “They aren’t as sharp as a cat or a bear, but they’ll cut. You should always fight to kill; even when we spar, you must think I am trying to kill you.”
It was a harsh lesson, but it was one Ezekiel had taken to heart. Lowering his hands, he shifted his legs and curled his lip. Thick fur rose along his spine. He would not play with her now; he did not think she deserved to be treated like a child. Silently, Ezekiel rushed forward and lashed out with his hands—claws retracted and palms open, seeing to show her how he could cut, how he could reach for her throat while at the same time hooking low, aiming for her belly.
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