He stared at the dead man, for it took all of his self-control to remain still. Red ears turned and followed his sister’s voice, but he hid his face from her still. There was nothing he could say to change the situation. Even though he had lived with wolves, he could not look away from the cost of sharing borders with them. A shadow passed over him, and with it came the echo of what his sister demanded. The carrion-birds would come, and with them the smaller things that shared their land—scavengers of the dead. Ezekiel’s eyes hardened.
“Then things will change,” he said lowly, aggression boiling in his voice. It was the first child he had lost, the first blemish on his rule as Aquila. Had their father been too passive? No, Ezekiel thought, not when he was more a wolf than either of his own children. “We’ll turn away wolves. Anyone that looks like a wolf,” he added as an afterthought, looking to her with glimmering violence in his eyes.
“Do you want to bury him?” He asked, eyes falling to the limp body of the child. This was his failure, as Aquila. It struck him deep.
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