Aemon or Ezekiel, please. Also omg tl;dr.

Zedekiah had been circling high for some time, and Ithiel peered upward toward the bird. Even at such distance, the man's crimson gaze could easily make out the massive wingspan of the vulture. Lystra shifted anxiously beneath him, and Ithiel extended a hand to her neck, his touch rough and insistent. She was not the type of horse to be coddled, and he knew better at this point. The dust-colored coyote had departed Scintilla knowing how to ride a horse, but now Ithiel truly knew how to ride a horse, and he could control a beast as tempermental as Lys. He was full of youthful cockiness, of course, and thought his control of his own chestnut mare indicated he was a master at the talent. He could ride with the hardest of them and break the wildest of bests, of course.

A wry smirk crossed his face at these thoughts. The boyishness was beginning to leave him, and such thoughts were now viewed with a more worldly look. The once bloodied leg was nearly healed, but the ache was still with him. Ithiel knew just how close he had come to death. The swipe had been aimed at his belly, and it would have disemboweled him. Such was his first encounter in real combat. The boy in him looked back to that event with excitement and anticipation of his next encounter; the man in him waited with no more than grim acceptance. Such was the struggle in him, and the jaded elder was winning out, bit by bit.

The vulture's lazy arc in the sky drifted ever closer to Ithiel, who raised his arm in anticipation. The thick leather gauntlet there would provide a landing space for the bird without destroying the flesh of the coyote's arm in the process. Zede looped lower toward the ground, tilting his wings to slow his descent as he approached the dusty coyote. The bird landed and Ithiel braced himself, clutching tightly onto Lystra's saddle as he did so. He grunted with the effort, and the big bird simply looked at him, unblinking and blank eyes indifferent to his master's discomfort.

Ithiel peered at the bird expectantly, offering a chunk of hastily dried meat as encouragement. The vulture leaned forward, extending his skinny neck toward the treat, gobbling it quickly. Head-bones. East. Eight, the vulture hissed. Ithiel was always amazed at the snake-like quality of his high speech, and though he did not know the exact span of measurement the vulture used to estimate distance, "eight" was a short trip by horseback, slightly longer on foot. They were close.

The dust-hued coyote shifted the bird back onto the rear of his saddle, tying the jesses of leather loosely to the vulture's perch. He could not gallop or canter while the bird was there, but he could at least trot, and the straps would keep Zedekiah from flying off and injuring himself. Ithiel wasn't absolutely certain if such measures were necessary -- Zede was well-trained, to say the least -- but he engaged them all the same, as it was in his instruction and training. The liver horse moved in her way, seeming to lumber across the earth.

In a short time, the man saw the gleam of white for himself, and drew his horse to a slower pace, pulling back on the rope halter he generally used to secure her. He dismounted, leaving Zedekiah and leading the mare on foot from here. It would be best to leave her behind a bit, he knew, but there was no suitable place to tie her here. When he reached the edge of the land, the invisible line of scent and visible border drawn by skulls, he stopped, peering into the land as if he could see what he was seeking here. He could smell his brother, but even if he hadn't, he knew this was the right place.

There was a grunt behind him from Zedekiah, but the bird said nothing. He was prone to such noises, and rarely explained them. Ithiel had given up on getting any sort of friendly companionship from the bird. Zede was simply not interested in his owner's kindnesses and conversations. He was a working bird, plain and simple. He excelled at his job and enjoyed it, and the vulture required nothing more of his owner.

The dust-hued coyote threw a cherry-colored glance in the direction of his companions. Lystra stood a few feet behind the man, and stomped her foot in impatience at his glance. At this, Ithiel rolled his eyes and turned back toward the borders, awaiting whatever would come. It was not long before a pale shape made its way through the trees, heading for him. There was but a moment of hesitation, and Aemon swept forward to meet his brother, throwing his arms wide to embrace the dingy coyote. Ithiel smiled, holding his brother close and avoiding tugging too tightly on the rope or tangling it within his paler brother's hair.

Aemon, my brother, the coyote murmured into the fur of his brother's shoulder, stepping back to hold him at arm's length. An approving gaze swept from Aemon's head to his toes, and Ithiel's grin broadened. You look good, man. It was true -- they were both becoming men, both able to make their father proud -- if he was here. Now was not the time to inquire on such things, however, for Aemon posed a question, and the dust-hued man winched, an apprehensive grin sliding over his dark muzzle.

Somewhere behind him, Kastra answered Aemon's question herself, calling to them both in the distance. Ithiel grunted, turning toward the pale woman with disapproval in his gaze, though he dared not speak against his commander. The yearling had wanted Kastra to wait behind a moment while he secured their place and their way -- his superior apparently had her own ideas. His tail flickered a few times, but there were no more protests from the man.

Soon? Kastra barked from atop one of her horses, drawing them both to a stop. Lystra gazed at the other horses easily enough. She had few problems integrating with other horses, so long as they were relatively submissive -- it was canines she disliked. However, the mare was familiar with all three of those present, and she was calm for the moment. Long and harsh, more like, she corrected, swinging down from her mount's saddle with graceful ease. Ithiel watched her and remained silent for the moment, content to allow his commander to speak for him.

He thought Kastra was a beautiful specimen of a woman upon first meeting her, and he certainly still did -- however, Ithiel did not think he could have tolerated a relationship with the coyote. She was too headstrong, too brash -- his woman should know her place. The man had yet to encounter that woman, however, and he sometimes pondered whether he would. So, Inferni, Kastra began, crossing her arms and gazing expectantly toward Aemon, apparently desiring a debriefing on the clan.

Kastra's grin was positively wicked at Aemon's words, and she gave a coy sort of smile, pointing her muzzle earthwards to give a false appearance of hurt. When don't I look good? she queried, her voice a playful purr. Ithiel, out of her direct line of sight, gave a prominent roll of his crimson eyes, grinning at his brother. Akhal-tekes, generously donated to our cause by bandits not too long after we left Scintilla, she explained, the wicked grin again returning to her silver-gray muzzle as she explained the horses' origin in rather deceptive language.

Ithiel thought it best to remain silent during Kastra's demanded debriefing; he instead took the time to crane his neck around, surveying their surroundings. As Aemon hesitated, however, his attention was drawn back to the pair sharply. Though he did not question his brother, his sharp cherry eyes were narrowed with worry, his look sour. The dust-colored coyote did not recognize the precise technique of stalling and explaining unnecessary things and might not have been able to replicate such a feat, but he recognized a ploy nonetheless, and his worry intensified, his face growing more grim, if possible.

But where is Gabriel? he interrupted, suddenly unmindful of his prior resolve to remain quiet. He did not consider Ezekiel and the significance of a half-brother, and unbeknownst to Ithiel, this Ezekiel half-brother was but a collop of the family he was to encounter here in Inferni. He stepped forward anxiously, and would have been surprised, had he noticed Kastra's lack of response to his interruption. As it was, the man was now focused on Aemon and the answer that was to come, hoping for the opposite of what he knew already to be true. They were too late -- he was gone.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

Kastra might have walloped Ithiel, had she not been preoccupied herself with this most pressing matter. She stepped up with Ithiel, just as eager and concerned, though she remained dead silent. This was a fearful thing to Ithiel -- dead silence from the silver-gray lady seemed to foretell great anger from the woman. This was something that the dark-hued coyote feared; angry and dissatisfied women were forces to be reckoned with, and not ones he particularly enjoyed dealing with.

It was Ithiel who felt a prickle of anger at Aemon's answer, however. His dusky face grew stormy with it, and his ears folded half-mast, one lip quivering and revealing pearly young teeth. It had not been promised Gabriel was here in Inferni, but Ithiel had taken such a thing for granted. Half their purpose was wasted, then. There would be no returning general. That raging part of him thought it was good -- he thought Gabriel would be too old. Jezebel had not known his exact age, but Ithiel remembered her saying it had to be over five. Ithiel would be a year and a half shortly -- nearly that time had passed, putting Gabriel ever-closer to the realm of elderliness. The grayscale coyote promptly turned and walked toward the horses and the small boscage of shrubbery the trio had drifted toward during the conversation.

Well, we'll still stay, for a while, anyway, Kastra spoke upon his return, her voice brisk. Maybe he'll return, or maybe we'll receive further word, she added, shrugging her cloak-draped shoulders. Her usual flare and spark was gone, a flat, dull tone barely masking the disappointment and, yes -- anger, it was in her, too. Ithiel's crimson eyes flicked from her to Aemon, his ears turned back in apology. None of his anger or disappointment was with his silvery brother, of course. We need the rest, yes, the dust-colored man agreed, murmuring something just to remind himself of his ability to speak.

What do you make of this Ezekiel? Kastra asked, and Ithiel remembered the news with a jerk. Half-brothers and sisters -- Jezebel must have known, but Ithiel had forgotten, either accidentally or on purpose. Now, it was apparent he was intrigued by his commander's question, crimson eyes turning toward Aemon. He was not comfortable with the idea of having half-siblings out in the world. He had liked thinking of his family as himself and Aemon very much, as much as he missed his mother. Kastra was his commander, a different relationship entirely. Aemon was his brother, and they were setting out to find the only family they had in the world. Now there were half-siblings, and yes, more of this clan carried the same blood of Ithiel's veins.