A figure moved in the corner of his vision and Ezekiel turned to it. He inhaled sharply. There, after two years of vain searching, was his prize. She was not the girl he remembered. There was a woman there with his sister’s eyes, with a darker pelt then the sister he remembered, but she smelled like Talitha and those eyes were unmistakable. Marlowe sensed the tension in the boy’s shoulder and squeezed him gently, as if reminding him to breathe. Ezekiel’s own golden eyes focused on her face.
They were like parts pulled from family they did not entirely know. She had russet hues like their mother, dark points like their father, while he stole what light had come from Gabriel’s father and made it pure once more. He had stolen his father’s eyes as well, though they were not half so harsh. A broad smile broke across his face, for he felt nothing but elation at seeing his sister once more. Without waiting for an invitation, he crossed (sending Marlowe aloft) and embraced her, taking care not to crush her prize. He was too burdened for much else, with the bow and quiver strung across his chest and the military-style bag’s strap crossing these things. “So are you. I guess I wasn’t as far off from finding you as I thought.” Humor, no sign of anything but that joy. How much had he really lost looking for her? He showed no sign of such a thing.