[m] there is a two-fold silence

Ezekiel de le Poer · 06-06-2011, 02:38 AM

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Even as his own vision dimmed, Ezekiel felt mad triumph. The antler-knife sunk pommel deep into the chest of the wolf-dog, sunk into his heart and diminished the pagan fire that had kept him alive in those mountains. He felt blood drip into his face, over his scarred eye, and he swallowed it along with his own. With one forcible grunt the Aquila shoved the corpse as it fell and pushed himself to his feet.

Though he swayed, choking and spitting blood, he was steady enough to stiffen at the noisy approach from the west. His head turned to find his sister somehow at the side of the dead man. She spoke his name. She barely looked at her brother. Fury boiled in his blood, righteous and unrighteous alike, and he no longer attempted to hide the outright hatred that he felt.

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me about outsiders again,” he hissed, voice low and thick. He coughed heavily, his own blood still filling his mouth. Ezekiel spat onto the earth. “I put up with your shit and let you run your fucking mouth the way you do and for what? For you to go fuck,” the word fell like a physical blow, harsh and uncaring. “, this piece of trash? You’re worse than the lot of these sorry fucks, you know that? They’re stupid and they’re worthless but they at least know where their loyalties lay!” A harsh bark. His throat was raw, raspy. It hurt to raise his voice, so he kept it low.

“You’re so goddamned high and mighty, and this is what you do? You fucking stab me in the back. I shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, Talitha, not from you, not from anyone. I’m your leader. I’m your fucking brother, for God’s sake!” A staggering step was taken away from her but it only succeded in bringing him to his knees. Ezekiel hit the ground with his palms and spat saliva and blood onto ground still thirsty for more.

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