That dying star collapsed into the sea as it would one day do millions of light-years away, and with its bloody light they were washed in crimson and scarlet and deeper shades of blue and violet. Even their eyes took on these tones; both capturing the sunlight and burning red as if they were truly hellions and not beasts of the earth. Yet this was no apocalyptic battle—this was only a brother fighting his sister’s lover because he could not strike her. He did not stop to think what other lives he would ruin; he did not think much at all.
His eagle’s talons found purchase in the soft flesh around the eye, as he had learned from experience, and Ezekiel bared his teeth in a snarl-smile. This was short lived. A fist made of stone collided with Ezekiel’s muzzle, sending shooting pain up from his nose and all the way through his skull. He smelt blood, but it was not enough to concern him. Snorting blood from his wounded nose, the coyote weaved and came in again, feigning the first blow and going for the other eye with a hand curled into a hook.
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