a magician and a heritic

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-05-2011, 02:57 AM

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Despite his sister’s sudden lack of hunger, Ezekiel rose and began to gather things for the fire. He did not truly understand the complex torrents of emotion that controlled her. Without such fears he was focused on functioning and nothing more. His mind was less focused on the internal and more on the external, as made sense to the golden-bronze coyote. Dried wood was hard to come by during the winter, but he had made a point to dry several pieces in his den every few days.

With dried grass and flint he started a spark, coaxing a flame out as his sister spoke from where she lay on the dirt and stone floor outside of his den. As the fire grew to a more sizeable tent-like structure, he settled with a rather straight stick and produced his knife from his bag. Idly he began sharpening a point on one end, stripping the bark as he went. “Not really. The way I figure it, God has a plan for me. So as long as I keep living, things will work out.” A shrug, as if this would explain everything.

Satisfied with his first stick, he moved to the deer hide and pulled a chunk of meat from it. This was skewered with the same efficiency as his arrows were used. Those same hands picked at the leather-wrapped bundles in his bag, tossing herbs onto the meat. He was especially pleased that he had traveled along the coast and picked up salt. This stick was balanced near the fire, though it would not be cooked fully through—simply charred on the outside so the flavor was present.

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