the dearly departed

Ezekiel de le Poer · 05-08-2011, 10:58 AM

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If there was any truth in the world, it was this: God is cruel. Ezekiel had watched savage things in the wilderness steal life away from the weak. He had grown to hate the things that behaved in such hideous fashions without reason. Cats, in particular. They did not kill simply to eat, though they did after the fact. No, those sleek things would strike out if only to play. Violence was in their hearts, as it was in his, but Ezekiel’s love of combat came from one single incident that had proved to him just how the world behaved.

Twin scars, the only proof he had ever been struck in his life, marred an otherwise perfect form. There had once been four, but the boy was clever. Healing salves could erase some, but not all, and he had to live with what he could not fix. Likewise, he now had to live with other things he could not fix. Stepping into the considerable gap left by his father had been troublesome. He did not yet feel comfortable with the title or the role, and he had not yet been able to leave the clan despite his desire to visit Alaine.

Mounted on Viggo, the coyote felt the muscled frame of his mount move with practiced ease over land that he had become used to. While not as flat and as broad as the dog-pack, it had tall grass and plains that suited livestock. Ezekiel was all but in his own world, watching the borders without really seeing. He thought of a thousand different things, and might have gone on like this until a shrill and frantic call he recognized almost instantly.

With a sharp kick and a cry of his own, the coyote forced the heavy horse into action. They tore across the plains, Ezekiel even now drawing an arrow, even now expecting the worst. He found it.

Two wolfish looking strangers were atop his sister. A body lay nearby.

Ezekiel let lose a sound that was perhaps more deep and more feral than anything he had made before. It frightened the horse under him, but the stallion had grown to trust the coyote and continued in his mad dash forward. The Aquila did not hesitate. One arrow flew from the bow, with the precision of a master, and struck the larger of the two things in the head. He had done such a thing before, and knew the bow, with his odd curve, could pierce skulls. The dark stranger was dead before he hit the ground. His companion, frightened by the appearance of the horse, began to flee. His wounds got him only so far before a second arrow stuck him in the neck, felling him.

Ezekiel dismounted in one motion, hitting the ground hard enough that pins and needles ran up his legs. He crossed to his sister with frantic speed, bow lowered but still in hand, and while panic filled his thoughts the fury remained in his step and in his eyes.

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