If he had been trying to kill his uncle, Ezekiel believed he could have. Hybrid was experienced, but no experience could counter an arrow to the skull. This bulky and unfamiliar form had stumped him and this frustrated the coyote—but not as much as the fact that Hybrid had failed to recognize the reasoning behind it. A frown crossed Ezekiel’s face, turning his eyes dark. There was a faint response to the snarl in the form of raised hackles and the corner of one tooth; uncle or not, Ezekiel would not back down from a fight.
Yet rather than bristle and snap and snarl, the golden-bronze boy laughed. “I have before,” he answered, thinking of the wolfish boy who hadn’t understood him either. “Besides, I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he went on, chiding the older male. “You’re the best of the Secui fighters, and I don’t use this form. If I fight you, I’ll learn. It’s simple.” Another condescending jab, suggesting that perhaps his uncle was the deft one in the pair.
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