05-12-2009, 10:46 PM
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| http://i692.photobucket.com/albums/vv28 ... Part12.png); background-position:bottom; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> For nearly a month, a fire had been burning. Gabriel de le Poer, as his father had believed, had fire in his heart. It had perhaps existed since his birth, or perhaps since the madman with the crooked jaw. Perhaps since a woman spoke to him of divine prophecy, or was cut down by another stranger with a mad face, or since the vision of the dead woman. There had been a specific point, this he knew, but he could no longer remember when or how it had occurred. He knew God’s Voice, and knew His Will. The first fire had changed him ultimately—he had barely recognized himself afterwards. Even his fur had darkened. He no longer looked like a coyote, as he had as a child. Amber eyes trailed the length of the border, and settled on an unfamiliar form. The dark wolf was unfamiliar, but it did not perturb him. He felt no threat; though for what reason, exactly, he could not name. So he approached with an easy walk, four legs following one another patiently. He stopped just inside of the marked territory, and regarded the stranger. “Yes?” Calm; detached. His scars and eyes betrayed him; for whatever else he was, Gabriel was burnt by the wages of his holy war. |