i'm on a slow burn [J - Leader Needed]

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-21-2012, 11:22 AM

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Winter had coated the land and muffled the world. Ezekiel was not a fan of such weather, but he adapted as his kind always did. He had spent enough time in the northern lands to know what it was to see a winter through. His father’s bloodline had given him the thick pelt of a wolf, passed on from an ancestor he did not know. The thick, layered thing had dulled some this season but it was still a burnished bronze. Black had begun overtaking his back, spreading from the saddle and further yet. He wondered if, like Gabriel, he would one day darken severely. There was less wolf within him, but the darkness grew yet—a part of him, based in mythology, imagined he was suffering instead from the curse put on him by the witch-woman of the Court.

He rode the draft horse westward, using Viggo’s heavy steps to cut a path. In riding their horses in this way, there was no difficulty with patrols. It was a simple way to do things, and saved energy for other needs. Ezekiel took advantage of the soft ground to train Max harder; the boy responded in earnest and they had beaten each other to the point of savagery. While sore, he had no wounds to show—unlike Halo’s bloodying training, he saw no need in scarring his apprentice.

The coyote was lost in thought when a yipping cry came from nearby. It was perhaps half a mile, if that. He urged the chestnut horse forward and Viggo snorted, shaking his head and picking his pace up to a trot. With the two in sync as they were, the slight movement forward from the coyote meant that the speed of the horse changed. It was a wordless understanding and one that allowed them to so flourish together.

It did not take long for the man to spot the pair, huddled in the snow and close in color. A severe jerk rippled through his body at the sight of the boy. For an instant, the myriad of emotions that crossed his face were as far-ranging and savage as a hurricane. It stilled into the mask of indifference so often worn, though his eyes burned behind his white-blonde hair. Since summer his hair had begun to grow out, though he did his best to keep it cut. The Aquila did not slow the horse until he was near the two, and slid from the massive animal’s back with ease. He still towered over the pair, one due to her development and the other due to his youth.

“Where is your mother?” He said quickly, voice expressing some of the worry he refused to show. The pendent glistening on the boy’s neck told him what the fading scent did as well; she was gone for good. He needed to hear it, though; he needed someone to tell him what he knew in his heart. Behind him, Viggo lowered his head and began searching through the snow for the grass yet hidden by winter’s blanket.

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