Of religion, Gabriel knew much. His own was a faith based both in love and wrath, but the God that Gabriel knew was an angry one. This older Lord spoke of blood and fire, and of the apocalyptic voice that would reign down all of the fury that was His to command. He would never turn away from any of the terrible things that he had done in the name of his Lord, and he would never wash the blood from his cross. His brother spoke of peace, and his sister echoed this call, but one of them had nearly been killed because of it. There was no place for weakness in this unforgiving land.
This was Gabriel’s truth. “Yes,” he answered, unsure of what a weeks time would bring him. Rikka had been wounded severely, and he had no room to believe another attack wouldn’t come. “Anselm will come to me with anything I need to know, but he’s the one who’s going to be taking charge. I know your brother knows him, so that might be a good way to introduce yourself further.” Of course, once Anselm explained the situation, Gabriel would realize this was a poor suggestion. “Need anything else?” the Aquila added, looking up at the peculiarly small halfbreed plainly.
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