08-22-2009, 09:10 AM
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Gabriel dropped back down to earth, landing with a peculiar grace that seemed unfit for his bulky mass. Staring ahead at the torn bark, he found that the anger in his blood was not yet enough to make him lose his head. Haku had done that. Skoll had done that. One was dead and the other might as well have been. Of all the things that the amber-eyed hybrid believed in it was blood. That was one unfailing thing in all that he had seen. Someone had once told him that there was no language that crossed between the realm of their world and that of others; other animals, men, and so on. This was a lie. Blood alone crossed that line. Though both his mother and cousin were demanding blood, Gabriel knew that as clever as this stranger was it was likely he was long gone. Guerilla warfare was something that he understood—and knew that this stranger was doing just that. Some asshole with a problem wanted to make trouble, and he had chosen the wrong clan to mess with. “We’ll never find him in this weather,” the Aquila grunted. “If you want to do a sweep then do so. Once we get some clear days I’ll have Marlowe cover the Waste from the air. Until then our best bet is to hope we come across him.” Then things would get interesting. |