04-09-2009, 11:15 AM
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Though it was remarkably late, the Aquila was neither sleeping nor in his den. Instead, the doggish male was seated on the beach, amber eyes burning in the darkness. The thought of her body washing ashore had begun to claw at his mind, to whisper and question and refuse to give him a moment of peace. Marlowe had returned with no news, but even this did not settle the hybrid’s mind. Conscious of this, the raven had stayed up and discussed the matter with the three year old at length.
Unable to settle, even after their talk, Gabriel had elected to go to the sea. Unwilling to leave his friend, the raven had traveled by the moonlight, however difficult this was for him. Gabriel appreciated the gesture, and had killed a large and slow-moving crab for the raven. So for a time there had been no noise outside of the cracking shells and ocean, which was perfectly all right for Gabriel.
That was until an unfamiliar and wolfish voice broke through his thoughts. The urgency of the call perturbed him, and instantly the hair along his spine rose. Without hesitation the Aquila was moving, running from the shore and towards the source of the disturbance. Marlowe was forgotten until the bird passed over him, keeping low to the ground and several yards ahead of the hybrid. He let out only one noise, and this was a loud call that alerted Gabriel to the source—which he soon smelt. Blood.
A thousand possibilities raced through his mind, but what he soon beheld caused a wave of horror to crash in his belly. Before him a white-eyed woman was carrying his son, battered and bloodied. What felt like fire began to rush through his blood, and Gabriel was conscious of nothing but the holy fervor that had come the night he had seen Talitha ruined, or the day his siblings had nearly been killed. His face cracked into a vicious snarl, but he did not attack the woman (even though impulse demanded such), instead riding that holy rage and using it to twist his body. Optime, long hair tumbling around his face, the man did not hesitate to close the distance and gingerly touch his son’s face, reassuring himself the boy was alive. Ezekiel managed a weak smile but then lost consciousness, which was just as well by Gabriel.
His eyes shot to the woman, amber-gold burning and vicious in the moonlight. “Come with me,” he ordered. Marlowe settled on the shoulder of the hybrid, who began moving north. They were too far from the mansion, and the beach would offer a smoother and safer path for their journey.
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Though it was remarkably late, the Aquila was neither sleeping nor in his den. Instead, the doggish male was seated on the beach, amber eyes burning in the darkness. The thought of her body washing ashore had begun to claw at his mind, to whisper and question and refuse to give him a moment of peace. Marlowe had returned with no news, but even this did not settle the hybrid’s mind. Conscious of this, the raven had stayed up and discussed the matter with the three year old at length.
Unable to settle, even after their talk, Gabriel had elected to go to the sea. Unwilling to leave his friend, the raven had traveled by the moonlight, however difficult this was for him. Gabriel appreciated the gesture, and had killed a large and slow-moving crab for the raven. So for a time there had been no noise outside of the cracking shells and ocean, which was perfectly all right for Gabriel.
That was until an unfamiliar and wolfish voice broke through his thoughts. The urgency of the call perturbed him, and instantly the hair along his spine rose. Without hesitation the Aquila was moving, running from the shore and towards the source of the disturbance. Marlowe was forgotten until the bird passed over him, keeping low to the ground and several yards ahead of the hybrid. He let out only one noise, and this was a loud call that alerted Gabriel to the source—which he soon smelt. Blood.
A thousand possibilities raced through his mind, but what he soon beheld caused a wave of horror to crash in his belly. Before him a white-eyed woman was carrying his son, battered and bloodied. What felt like fire began to rush through his blood, and Gabriel was conscious of nothing but the holy fervor that had come the night he had seen Talitha ruined, or the day his siblings had nearly been killed. His face cracked into a vicious snarl, but he did not attack the woman (even though impulse demanded such), instead riding that holy rage and using it to twist his body. Optime, long hair tumbling around his face, the man did not hesitate to close the distance and gingerly touch his son’s face, reassuring himself the boy was alive. Ezekiel managed a weak smile but then lost consciousness, which was just as well by Gabriel.
His eyes shot to the woman, amber-gold burning and vicious in the moonlight. “Come with me,” he ordered. Marlowe settled on the shoulder of the hybrid, who began moving north. They were too far from the mansion, and the beach would offer a smoother and safer path for their journey.