Wounded as he was, Ezekiel had to continue patrols. Halo was busy with the girl she had found (and no longer his second-in-command), Sage was busy doing…whatever she did, and everyone else was busy with puppies or their secondary tasks. So it fell to Ezekiel to pick up the slack, wounds or not. He had not shifted since the fight, instinctively knowing the wounds would heal better without being pulled or stretched. His ear was notched now, but the coyote was glad that was all Halo had taken.

Red paws carried him through the sandy colored grass, moving at an easy wolfish trot. The fresh wounds no longer stung, but they looked quite sour against his otherwise pristine pelt. Black nose turned up to the wind, twitching as he took in the scents. It was, however, a youth’s bellow that caused his large ears to turn forward. Quick stiff-legged steps carried him to the rise of a bluff, and there he spotted a white figure charging through the grass. A wolf. Ezekiel’s lip curled and he charged down to meet the lanky figure with a commanding series of yaps.

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.

It was the law of the wild that prevented him from dropping his stance. Ezekiel was a beast made from the forest, but he was one that had the instincts of a wolf—and so he welcomed the submission and settled, tail swishing behind him. Amber eyes took in the shape of the child, and despite his coloring and skull-size, it was remarkable how much of him looked coyote. That was not simply age either; he was too lean, too sharp.

Without moving from his spot, Ezekiel flicked one large ear dismissively. “I don’t suppose you noticed the borders, then,” he said, and while his face was stern his voice was full of humor. One corner of his mouth pulled back, revealing ivory-yellow teeth. He might have looked a fright if not for the amusement he found out of the situation—something severely lacking in his life since the incident with Halo. Of course, how often did a gray yearling fall flat on his face? No one in Inferni would dare let themselves be seen in such a manner.

There was something to be said for Ezekiel’s inherited patience. He was not half so tempered as his father, who had years of experience on the three-year-old. His packmates could feel the lash of his teeth or the aggression that came from lack of sleep. Halo had felt the full wrath of his fury, but he would not turn it on a child. Especially not one who seemed oblivious to the fact he had committed an offense. To Ezekiel, this told him one thing—the child had not come from a pack; he would have known then.

Puzzled by the explanation, Ezekiel’s ears rose high and formed a red crown. Giants? A strange animal? What on earth was this kid talking about? Yet there were more important things to figure out presently. “What’s your name? Where did you come from?” If someone was looking for him, there was the likely-hood of them coming to Inferni. Then again, Ezekiel had “rescued” several children in his lifetime and even now was forming a plan to do the same again.

Half-monster? For a man with little romantic vision, the idea was a thick one. He frowned and opened his mouth, but was cut off as the child began leaping away. Ezekiel growled under his breath and wheeled, but his wounds made him slow and he missed the boy by inches. It was with a coyote’s quick trot he hurried after the pale boy, and he caught up to him at the rocks. A rabbit; that’s what the boy had been chasing.

Frustrated, the Aquila’s expression had soured. “Max,” he said sternly, sounding very much like his father. “You’re not allowed to just run around in here. These are clan lands; you have to be a member in order to stay here.” Something the child had mentioned caused Ezekiel’s face to soften with slight confusion. “Did you say your family turned into badgers?” What an odd idea.

The Aquila found the whole story rather fantastic. If he had been smarter, like his sister, he might have read through the poetry and found the meaning. Ezekiel was a savage thing and wild at heart, and so he could not hold onto pretty ideas. One thing was certain to him though; Max was not a wolf. In his pelt, yes, but not in his body (though this was large, as Ezekiel’s own). Besides, he wanted to get deeper into this whole “monster” story.

“Something like that,” he began. “We’re warriors here, Max. If you want to stay, you’ll need to be a warrior too. But you look strong,” the coyote went on, shifting his red paws and flicking his tail cat-like behind him. “So if you follow me, I’ll make sure you’re prepared for anything. Even giants.” A coyote’s wide smile broke across his face, and he nodded to the area behind him. Without waiting for an answer, he turned. “Come on, I’ll show you around and we’ll try and scare you up some food. You’re awfully skinny,” came the comment over one broad shoulder, and with that Ezekiel had begun trotting towards one of the well-worn paths.