I'm not about to give thanks or apologize.

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-01-2011, 07:45 PM

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Observation was the key to Ezekiel’s knowledge. He had watched his prey and studied it intensely. So he understood how the birds flocked, where they flew, and how best to kill them. While Talitha shifted to her lupus form, the bronze coyote studied the flow of the wind and judged how best to aim. His eyes darkened as he looked over his sister’s painfully skinny frame, hating to see how terrible she looked. It was as if she had been a lone coyote starving for years. Then she was off, reddish fur standing out against the snow as she went. He used this as a beacon.

Her movement and noise startled the geese. Several of them panicked, sending the flock into a frenzy. A few flew low, skimming over the water, but Ezekiel waited. One large goose flew up, away from the mad coyote on the ground, and away from the water. With that, his chance was made. Ezekiel’s arrow flew from the bow, a brown and red blur as it struck true. The bolt went deep into the breast of the goose, killing it long before it fell to the snow below.

The rest of the flock settled further away, as if oblivious to the death of one of their own. Ezekiel made his way through the snow, pulling the bowstring over his chest so the bow itself could rest against his back. It lay next to the quiver, a hand-made thing that bore several intricate designs amid a collection of fur and feathers and beads. He picked the bird up by the neck and ripped the arrow from its chest in one swift jerk.

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