Ithiel is by me!

Ithiel occupied himself with the morning's prayers upon first rising, as he always did. Prayers were to be kept to oneself, muttered into the dark abyss of night. Such were the teachings of his Scintilla, and such was the reasoning few had seen Ithiel pray since childhood. The journey east had provided little shelter, however, and he, Aemon, and Kastra had few secrets from one another those long and grueling weeks. The dark-hued man had not minded the closeness with his brother; on the contrary, such travel served to bring Ithiel even closer to his silver-hued sibling. With Kastra, it was another story entirely -- their proximity, irritating at first, had grown intolerable with astonishing speed. Ithiel was now glad he had his cave, private and personal.

The mansion was not far from his home, and it was in this direction Ithiel traveled with Zedekiah perched on his arm. The coyote's breath rose in a silvery cloud, and he paused a moment and lifted his head to listen when he heard the call. A woman's voice beckoned, and the de le Poer recognized it as one of higher rank. Much like Scintilla, this was a place where women frequently ascended high ranks. Ithiel had no problems obeying them, but he would not withstand a woman personally insubordinate to him. His relationship would be decidedly unequal, though Ithiel, of course, viewed this as only fairness. His woman would need protecting, and he would be the one to provide for her, both in protection and love and all other matters.

He doubted the woman to whom he would devote his life lived in Inferni now. Too many of the clan shared his blood, and Ithiel would not indulge such disgusting thoughts for a moment. Too many more were of hybridized blood, dirtied by wolf ancestry. His ideal was coyote to the fullest, and Ithiel, in his own idealism, thought he would settle for no less. Why women were on his thoughts, none could tell -- they had been as of late, however, and the dusky man blamed this on his own maturing. He neared the age when he would become fertile, if his Scintillan elders told it right. It was only natural thoughts of the opposite sex would dwell more heavily on his mind.

Still, Ithiel was a soldier, and as such, he was capable of swallowing his own wants and needs -- however vague they might be in truth, despite his itemized list of traits and characteristics for "his woman" -- for the good of the clan. Such was this moment, and the crimson-eyed man abandoned his fanciful notions, buckling down to his usual business-like mode. The man strode toward the mountain to see a looming horse, certainly similar of breed to his own Lystra, with a golden-hued woman leaned against the horse's flank.

Ithiel approached the stranger and sized her up as he did so, making a small wave of his hand, but no vocalization. No smile graced his muzzle, either, for the man's smiles were rarities indeed. Upon encroaching a suitable distance -- one which left ample room between himself and her horse, should the beast prove as ill-tempered as his own mare -- the man stopped and dipped his head forward to her. He did not recognize her, but then again, Ithiel was not particularly adept at remembering names and faces to begin with, even in places smaller than his homeland. Zedekiah shifted on his arm, and Ithiel placed a calming hand upon his back. The big bird settled, twisting his head to peer at his master. The vulture certainly was not bonny, as anyone could attest, but he served his purpose well, and Ithiel had thanked the Lord for his sky-bound eyes innumerable times.

Ithiel de le Poer, the dust-colored man said, introducing himself with his head still bowed. Zedekiah, the vulture, Ithiel added, motioning with his free hand toward his leather-clad arm and Zedekiah. Lifting his head, he drew his crimson eyes first to her horse, then to the woman, careful to avoid direct eye contact. Ithiel had not yet accustomed himself to Inferni's more lax standards of submission and dominance, and he had yet to realize what an anomaly he was amongst his carefree companions. What purpose shall we serve today? he inquired, curious to know why she had summoned him -- and, of course, others of Inferni. Without knowing her rank, the dusky canine could not guess their intent, and so he waited in calm suspension, ready to serve regardless of their plan.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

The initial woman, the one of tawny fur and seafoam green eyes, did not assert her dominance. Ithiel did not find this odd, but neither did he relax his own submission, as he was accustomed to presenting himself as a subordinate. Such was not an insult to Ithiel, for the dusky coyote knew he was meant to serve, first and foremost. No matter what golden dreams came to him in the night, he would always be a follower. The dreams, enticing as they were, could be nothing more than idle fantasy. Ithiel lacked the decisiveness required of a leader, among other necessary characteristics; additionally, he was sorely lacking in charismatic appeal. He was not a man to inspire loyalty toward himself; rather, he offered his own with his oath, both of which had been pledged to Inferni. He had pledged to serve the clan, and as his new companion exceeded him in rank, he was bound to serve her.

She introduced herself as Omni, to which the dusky coyote nodded, offering little more. He was not surprised by a lack of introduction for the woman's horse -- some chose not to name their beasts of burden, after all, and Ithiel himself had considered stripping Lystra of her name and all else that personalized the unruly mare. However, the dark-hued man had decided, in the end, it was easier to refer to the chestnut mare as some name rather than just "you beast" or some variant thereof. She seemed, however, rather impressed with his bird -- to this, the faintest flicker of a frown crossed the dust-hued man's muzzle, and he averted his crimson-hued eyes, looking pointedly in the direction of the mansion.

Zedekiah? He is but a turkey vulture, and I cannot take credit for his obedience, the coyote offered, uncharacteristically quick in his response. Ithiel was never one to take credit for actions not his own. The dust-hued man listened intently as the higher-ranked female explained their purpose, nodding his head a few times to show he understood. The sounds of another approach, however, did catch his attention; the Praeses found himself peering in the direction from whence he'd arrived. He saw a coyote he thought he recognized -- perhaps from the meeting or some other encounter on Infernian soil. She was very small, and Ithiel at first thought she was a child. Soon, however, he saw she was simply small, perhaps due to her coyote heritage. Ithiel's crimson eyes regarded her sharply, and he saw at once she was either extremely low of wolf's blood, or entirely free of it.

Such a thing was to be admired by Ithiel, who found himself appreciative of such a presence within hybridized Inferni. Even if he himself carried the blood of a wolf, it mattered little in the choice of his lifestyle. He'd shed the blood of those who threatened Scintilla; he was not a murderer and he did not seek to exact his vengeance on the species through genocide or any other means. He did, however, find the appearance of one heavy with coyote ancestry pleasing. He had started wondering if such a thing existed within Inferni, this place of cousins and hybrids and cousin-hybrids. It was good to know there were still true coyotes -- at least, in appearance and apparent ancestry -- within his father's clan.

Afternoon, he greeted the jade-eyed woman, offering her the same bow of his head. Her casual demeanor told the dusky coyote she, too, exceeded him in rank. Faced with two women, both of whom apparently outclassed him, Ithiel might have seemed prone to balk, or at least show some indication of sourness at serving beneath women. For his belief in superiority, the multi-hued coyote accepted this would-be conundrum easily, his countenance retaining every ounce of impassivity it had previously possessed. His ears remained turned in interest, though he kept them below the rising ridge of his hair. The dusky man again introduced himself with the same stiff politeness as he had with Omni, again inclining his head toward the shorter woman. Ithiel de le Poer.

The dusky man was quick to return his attention to their companion, who repeated their purpose. Ithiel surveyed the tools of the tawny woman for a long moment, appraising the bow and arrows with a cautious eye. He preferred his own, of course, but these were of solid enough craftsmanship. For his part, Ithiel would hunt in whichever form his companions seemed to prefer. He was capable of felling prey by arrow or by foot. He had not done the latter in some time, and he thought it might be good to stretch the muscles of his four-legged form. After this considerable pause, the man turned his gaze from the bonny assortment of weaponry and back toward Omni, their presumed leader for this expedition.

He had appraised her as one with a generally sunny disposition, as she'd shown them nothing but politeness thus far. It was evident Omni was older than Ithiel, and the dark man had noticed the deep scar in her leg, spelling out a word Ithiel did not utter except in the most dire of circumstances. The dusky man had chosen to politely ignore its existence, and figured he would never know its story, being too well-mannered to inquire directly upon the wound's cause. It was a curious choice of wound, though he understood the meaning of such brandings well enough. Part of him wondered if Omni had earned her brand, whether it spoke true. It was true canines judged unfairly and it was to God alone to pass the final verdict of their souls, but often enough, such brands were well-earned.

However you wish me to hunt, I will hunt, he said, rather simply. The arrow is a good way to hunt, but as our eldest ancestors, I hunt on my feet as well as my bow. There was a momentary pause, and the man decided to speak of Lystra, although he was hesitant to deal with the horse again. If you wish, I will saddle my horse. Though I must warn you: she is an ill-tempered beast, and we'll have to keep a distance between your horse and mine. His voice was grave, emphasizing the seriousness of Lystra's temperament. Ithiel truly needed to procure a different type of bit for the horse; the hackamore simply did not afford him enough control over the blonde equine. Perhaps if he had some different type of bit, something truly uncomfortable, she would heed her master's words.

Ithiel is by me!

The first woman, Omni, spoke of family, and Ithiel would have gritted his teeth, were he a more expressive man. As it was, his face remained impassive, merely cupping his deep gray ears toward her to better catch the sounds of her words. The subject of them told him he'd been recognized as one among many Lykois. He doubted the others were very aware of his close relation to the Aquila. For his part, Ithiel would not make such information available of his own volition. The dusky man nodded slowly in response to her, cocking an ear at their smaller companion's interjection. Stinkies? The word was foreign to him, and the fainest notion of a frown -- the very corners of his mouth and the slightest downward swoop of his ears -- crossed Ithiel's countenance. He would not inquire about the meaning of the word, as it seemed irrelevant to the conversation, and instead turned his attention back to Omni, who spoke once again.

Now it was Omni's turn to reference stinkies, and the man's confusion deepened, as did its appearance on his face. He was readying himself to inquire just what a "stinky" was when it struck him, then and there. It irritated him that they would refer to wolves as such. The creatures deserved, at the very least, to be called by their proper name -- it was insulting enough to be called a wolf, in other words. Fear nothing of wolves with Zedekiah's eyes, the dusky coyote put in. He will fly for us, and if he spies canine movement anywhere near our border, we will know. The man again fell silent as Omni continued her instruction, and he listened carefully, even as the tingle of eagerness crept through his belly and set his blood on a slow boil. She addressed him directly, and the man listened with faint disappointment. He might have chosen to ride one of the calmer communal horses, had he known of their existence. Ithiel was ignorant of such functions within Inferni, however, and the dark-hued man was resigned to riding his own ill-tempered equine.

Go, then, and I will catch up with my horse, Ithiel said. Rather than waiting for a response, he jogged up the front steps to the mansion and back through toward the rear gardens. He kept Lystra as separately as possible from the other horses, and as he approached, a high pitched scream and a stomping sound alerted the man to the presence of his horse. Zedekiah, who had hunkered obediently against his chest as he hurried, now stretched his wings, correctly guessing or perhaps even sensing his master would send him to the skies in a moment. The dusky coyote spoke a few quick words to the bird, who repeated them back in clipped and grunting tones. Ithiel pushed his arms and Zedekiah skyward, and the vulture gave a few flaps of his great wings, sending gusts of air back and the bird's scent -- faintly rotten, a smell reminding Ithiel of the carrion Zedekiah's kind considered delicacy -- into Ithiel's face.

Ithi did not watch Zedekiah drift steadily upward into the sky; rather, by instinct and experience, the dusky Praeses knew his bird flew steadily toward the heavens and floated just below the clouds, watching with his superior vision all the action about the borders of Inferni. For his part, Ithiel grimaced and moved toward the big chestnut mare, saddling her as quickly as possible. He took his bow and quiver, as well, having left it there from his previous ride. The dark-hued man was thankful he did not have to make an additional stop by the caves; it would have slowed him even further. He led Lystra out of the stall and the big mare followed, her every muscle quivering. The chestnut tossed her head this way and that and snorted. Growling, Ithiel gave a tug to her lead rope, and coaxed her to standing still. She tried to sidestep him only once as he mounted, and, once saddled, she seemed to settle, blissfully calm today.

Running her would help, and as they exited the gardens, Ithiel allowed the big horse to have her lead, and she began to run in her galumphing and ungainly stride. Awkward as her gait might be, her hooves echoed like thunder and she seemed a rolling mountain of a horse, even large Ithiel dwarfed by her size as they darted across the rolling and open plains of the Waste toward the western outrance of Inferni. Lystra suddenly bunched and surged forward, and Ithiel knew she'd scented Omni's horse. He fought her for control again, gaining it only as they came within a hundred feet of the pair. She stopped entirely, shook her head and uttered a shrill scream, fighting Ithiel hard to take her lead and chase after Omni's horse. Ithiel refused her steadfastly and none too politely, finally wrangling the fight from her. Still, as he trotted her up toward the pair, he gave them a wide berth, keeping a good distance between his horse and Omni's. The man didn't speak, either -- he had explained already Lystra's inclination to make trouble, and thought the subject required no further comment.

The dusky-hued coyote spent a few long moments waiting for Omni's arrival. Lystra had settled since the scent of Omni's horse had faded, and though the liver-hued mare was not happy with her existence, she had at least settled to the point where Ithiel would be able to control her for the hunt. The dusky man waited, remaining still and gazing down on the younger woman he'd now be hunting with. Ithiel was not particularly pleased with the idea of hunting with two women, and young ones, at that. Had Inferni no better hunters? The dusky Praeses had begun to reconsider his choice of post for the clan, and his contemplation was long.

He stirred after these moments and looked as a new face entering the scene. It was not omni, but another female entirely -- and this one very young. Ithiel showed no sign of exasperation, but he was through waiting for the would-be leader of their party, and he called to both of the girls. Wraith, Symera, then. I am Ithiel de le Poer, the man explained. He did not trust either of these women to take control of the situation, and if Symera -- who no doubt exceeded him in rank -- took issue with his command, so be it -- perhaps he would challenge her for her rank and best her. The coyote had fought women before, but they had been seasoned warriors, and in truth, the silvered Praeses did not think himself capable of truly harming one of the female persuasion.

We should have had a third to accompany us, but perhaps it's best she's passed us by. My horse will not tolerate her steed's presence, and she works best alone. Are you both able to hunt? he asked, unsure if the question would offend either, and not particularly caring. I will circle around, outside of the borders, and herd whatever prey I can toward you two. Take what you can, and I will follow your strike with my arrows, the man said, shrugging a shoulder and shifting the quiver hanging upon his back to indicate its existence, if neither of the women had taken note of it. The coyote, satisfied his instructions were delivered, twisted his head skyward and yelped shrilly, the cry short and incredibly sharp -- perhaps the Luperci's whistle. His arm extended toward the sky, and Zedekiah swooped toward him a moment later.

The big bird sought purchase on Ithiel's gauntlet, his big talons gripping the thick leather for his perch. The red-headed bird peered grimly at Ithiel's would-be hunting companions for a moment, then turned his beady eyes back toward Ithiel. Goat. Deer, the bird said, his low voice gravelly as always. Hogssss, the bird added, bobbling his head to indicate this was the prey of largest quantity. Ithiel nodded and lifted his arm back toward the sky after offering Zedekiah a sliver of dried meat from a pouch on the gauntlet's chest. The bird took off and floated back toward the clouds, his wide black wings carrying him there swiftly.

Any of those will do. Do you understand? he asked of Symera and Wraith, certain they were to experience failure. He himself was not so old, but he had lived a harsh life in Scintilla, and his training had prepared him for these failures as well as successes. Such failures could not educe within him any less determination and strength.