I want to have faith to put away the dagger

Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-08-2012, 03:07 AM

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Smoke filled the air around his head. Despite the drugs, it gave him clarity. Ezekiel was a man chased by both figurative and literal ghosts, and he was a man whose paranoia had grown to such an extent that he trusted none with his life—even after Helotes’ action, he could not forget that there was a weakness in him, a poison that allowed for folly. All men had faults, and he would be blind to expect them to come through without a moment, a chance, of failure. One day someone would fail him and leave him dead. This he could not allow, and so the retreat into the beast from the earth had begun.

Ezekiel slid from the rock, landing on his favored foot alone. There was an apparent shift in his step as he approached the dusky man. He regarded him for a long moment, and then smiled in a way that did not meet his eyes. “I think you would ride to hell if I so ordered,” he chided, and then squared his shoulders and stared hard at Ithiel’s face. “Twice, now, they have come. They follow our God, brother,” the Aquila added, and for the first time, truly meant it. “They will come again. We increase patrols and we increase our weapons. Even three warriors is too great a risk to lose if you fail,” he went on, amber eyes hardening. This was an order he did not wish to see disobeyed.

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