Ithiel is by Kitty!

Scout, they called him -- Ithiel was not certain of its true meaning, but the word itself was Praeses, and the duty was clear enough. The dusky-hued coyote understood this duty and was quite familiar with it, having performed such countless times in Scintilla. It was his specialty, as he'd declared to the Aquila of this clan upon first joining. The dusky coyote had sworn an oath to this place and its members. More importantly, he was beginning to realize, there was family here -- family he needed to protect. This did not mean they were all his brothers -- such honor was reserved for Aemon and Aemon alone. Ezekiel was counted among Ithiel's many cousins rather than a true half-brother. The dusky coyote still had difficulty swallowing the idea that there were others of Gabriel de le Poer's progeny; he had always imagined himself and Aemon as the only ones, the lone progenitors of their father's name and bloodline. As it was turning out, the warm childhood fantasy was turning out to be precisely that: sheer fantasy.

Such daydreams filled the man's head as Lystra carried him around the borders. The big chestnut was always eager to run, and Ithiel let her take her lead to a swift trot, trusting her instincts to keep him seated. She was already well-familiar with the path around Inferni; most of the territory was open grassland, after all. As they neared the woods, Ithiel slowed the horse completely, shielding his eyes out of habit rather than necessity. There was no sun today to require shielding his eyes. Zedekiah, a black speck against the overcast sky, wheeled high above, circling as Ithiel watched a moment. He was apparently content to do so as long as Ithiel desired, and Ithiel thought it unnecessary to reel the bird in just yet.

Lystra seemed over-eager as they entered the strip of woods to Inferni's southlands, though it was not uncharacteristic of her to be in such a state. Ithiel held her back with some difficulty; were he less even of temperament, he would have cursed her openly. Such things were entirely out of Ithiel's nature, however, and he preferred to berate her in a more surreptitious manner. I should offer you for trade. Someone would want a horse with such hot blood. Me -- I should settle for a nice old gelding, or a young filly -- one I can teach proper manners, before she turns into a surly git like you, the man murmured to her, though of course, the chestnut mare did not understand a word of it.

Man and horse passed a thick tangle of trees, and he saw, in the distance, what looked to be one of Inferni leading a horse and a deer. Lystra gave an excited snort, rumbling in her chest at the sight of the other horse and the unfamiliar Luperci. The big mare pranced where she stood, tossing her head this way and that. Ithiel held her with some difficulty, though he was distracted by the stranger. He did not recall this man from the meeting and he looked awfully wolfish -- the dusky man gave a sudden and severe tug on Lystra's reigns, the hackamore pulling taught against her snout and forcing her head away from the other horse. He gave her several quick steps, pulling her in the opposite direction she desired all the way to keep her from charging the stranger and his horse.

I don't think you belong here, wolf, the man called. His dusky face remained impassive, but he wished sorely to reach for his bow. Lystra was far too excited for such, and he would have cursed the gambler he'd beaten for the mare's ownership. Trained, his left ear -- the mare would be more of a danger in battle than an accompaniment. Rare anger flashed across his face, though it was not the stormiest of snarls. Excitement tingled through his extremities, and Ithiel cast his baleful glance toward the stranger, readying himself to leap from Lystra if need be.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

The stranger before Ithiel appeared to be heavily wolfish, but there was something almost hybrid about him, all the same. Ithiel had sized the trespasser up in the first few seconds, as was the dusky coyote's custom. He was rare to pass instant judgment, but this did not mean he did not seek to establish knowledge about those he encountered. Brilliant blue eyes gazed downward from the smear of darkness crossing the man's face, but Ithiel hardly registered this apologetic gesture.

For his part, Ithiel's jaw had parted and there was a look of utter consternation now splayed across his dusky face, sizing up this son of Gabriel. These words seemed to echo loudest of all the man said, and though it was a rarity, Ithiel would be unable to speak the man's pack affiliation later. Ithiel, the scout, who prided himself on sharp memory and sharper skills, registered only the man's name and his paternity. All else was forgotten.

For his momentary shock, Lystra tried to wheel around again, and the man gave another tug of the reins, his frustration exclaimed in a short, barking cry. Still, beast! And she was -- at least, mostly. The big horse still tossed her head and shifted her weight from one forepaw to the other, burying one into the dirt to paw at the earth every now and then. Lystra stilled for the moment, Ithiel still needed a moment to absorb what had been spoken; he remained looking down at the ill-tempered mare a moment before he swung his sharp gaze back toward Alder. Composed, Ithiel's expression was its usual gloomy look of seriousness.

It shames me to share blood with wolf trespassers, he said evenly, though Ithiel very much felt like he had after receiving his leg wound. Deeply cut was the only way to describe it. I did not know my father shared a den with a wolf, he added, though this was more for his benefit than his apparent half-brother. There was deep resentment written across the dusky coyote's face, though he had kept his tone relatively even. Ithiel could hardly stomach the thought of having a half-brother of so much wolfish blood, and he fought to keep his gaze on Alder rather than look away. He could not appear weak in this moment.

Ithiel had never met his father, and the dusky man had in fact idolized the former general prior to this moment. Despite this, he might have turned his back on Gabriel if the man were to present himself that moment. Perhaps later, Ithiel would recover from this shock; in this moment, however, the wound was too far to fresh to forget. In one simple sentence, much of his foundation had been rocked. It was as if an earthquakes, the rare earth quivering in the dead of a cold desert night, had just rattled his bones. He had experienced only the faintest tremors, perhaps aftershocks of some greater quake, and only twice in his life. Still, the feelings were the same, he thought.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

Part wolf he was, Ithiel generally did not devote much thought to such things. His father's blood had granted him a quarter of that dirty and despicable heritage, but Ithiel had set it aside in his youth. He and Aemon took after their mother, Aemon even moreso than Ithiel, who had inherited his father's largeness and stature. For his size, Ithiel did appear rather coyote, with his oversized ears and slimmed head shape, the tapering and almost delicate muzzle of Jezebel's shape.

Now and again, the dusky coyote was forced to confront his unwanted heritage. Now was such a time, and Ithiel almost despised Gabriel in that moment. His idolatry of the man had been shaken when he discovered his other half-siblings, coyote as they were, but now it felt very nearly shattered, and one does not typically recover from such in mere moments. Ithiel, even of temperament as he was, kept composure only due to his nature, which was not to explode into animalistic rage.

Still, he did feel that prickle of anger within him, coursing insistently up and down his spine. The dark man reigned this feeling in to the best of his ability, though he was certain pieces of it were evident nonetheless. Composed as he normally might be, Ithiel had never fathomed such as this. Gabriel was wolfish enough as it was -- something Ithiel had overlooked many times in his contemplation -- but that he might beget wolf sons, hardly coyote at all?

He expected his apparent half-brother, this Alder, to gasconade the perks of his pack and the wolfish lifestyle while denigrating Inferni and coyotes; such was as he had encountered before. The dusky coyote was surprised by the shortness and simplicity of response, though the dark-masked wolf's tone had taken on a note of clear anger. I know much of wolves, he returned, indifferent to the man's anger. More than I care to know. Though his tone was still even, his look had turned to one of hurt, too, however miniscule that hurt was. He could not believe his father had betrayed him in such a manner. Then again -- and perhaps Ithiel would eventually come to realize this -- he had never even met Gabriel, and the portrait Ithiel had painted of the once-Aquila was not only glaringly inaccurate in places, but an unrealistically idealistic perspective altogether.

Lystra bared her teeth and rolled her eyes at the closer step of the wolf's horse, seeming to tremble beneath his harsh hands. He kept her where she was, but barely -- he would not warn the wolf of her tendency to bite and kick at unfamiliar horses. It had taken Ithiel and Kastra many weeks before Lystra had accepted her horses, and even then, Lystra had bullied them. This was why the dusky-hued coyote kept her separated from the rest of Inferni's horses, but he made no move to make her back away from the other horse now, though he kept her under his control. When and if she broke it, he might come to regret keeping her so close.

The implication -- that all wolves were the same -- was one Ithiel believed. There were differences, certainly, but they were all varying degrees of the same thing. He did not understand why there were sympathizing coyotes in the world, let alone coyotes who believed Scintilla had acted in the wrong. The wolves had tried to take their land then, and it might be much the same for Inferni, here. Ithiel would not have been surprised to hear of either Dahlian war or the trespassers Inferni had dealt with all its long life.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

The dust-hued man had pitiable little experience with wolves. He had been raised in Scintilla, a place harried by wolves on a frequent basis. He had grown up with an idealized version of his father in his mind, and was just now beginning to realize this version of Gabriel he'd woven of dream-threads was unraveling before his very eyes. It was only natural Ithiel assumed his father fastidiously upheld the very same ideals Ithiel had imagined for him, after all. To find that it was just the opposite -- that, in fact, Gabriel had sired wolf children, and with a wolf -- well, it had struck a considerable blow to the dusky Praeses.

A weaker man might have leapt to aggression at the messenger of such poor tidings, but Ithiel possessed far more self-control than to blindly leap for the stranger, trespasser or not. He had spoken his name and his affiliation, and Ithiel knew nothing of Ezekiel's opinion of his half-brother's homeland. He would not want to incite the displeasure of his Aquila and commander, and it was primarily this which kept his anger from further escalating. Even these remarks which the tawny hybrid now spoke, their intent clearly marked by their tone, had little impact on the swarthy coyote.

Brother, he repeated, leaning to the side of his horse and spitting upon the ground with the taste of the word. Go, then, and trouble me no more. Your memory will do so in your stead, Ithiel promised gloomily, pulling heartily at Lystra's reigns. The big mare took a few steps backward, still shaking her head and flaring her nostrils toward her master, her anger with him evident. He either ignored or did not perceive the insult, if it was indeed such, regarding his horse's temperament.That Alder might know of Gabriel and his whereabouts never crossed Ithiel's mind -- if it had, it was unlikely the dusky coyote would have inquired after the information, priceless as it might have been. He would not stoop to ask a wolf of his prestigious father.