Like his son, Gabriel was a soldier before everything else. He had excelled in this, and the natural leadership that he had inherited given him strength to become Aquila. For well over two years Gabriel had taken the coyote clan and turned it from the rag-tag bunch of savages they were perceived as and into something much more. Offense was not his goal, and never had been. Wars got people killed, and they had seen this twice now. So, by all accounts, the fact he became numb was not obscene. It was, if anything, typical.
Amber eyes sharpened, and turned hawk-like, as they focused on his companion’s scarred face. Not that long ago, they might have been enemies. A common danger negated their foolish pride. “It’s probably better that way,” he echoed, white teeth shining against his dark muzzle. “You get one or two people that stir things up and everyone gets dragged into it. Haku’s a prime example,” he grunted, sparing a glance towards the south. After a long moment, the Aquila turned back to the Patriarch. “You two are related, yeah?”
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