Patrols seemed to go on endlessly these days. Ezekiel often took the day shifts alone, covering ground on horseback and with a pair of eyes above him. Ibsen was useless at night unless the moon was full, and his uncle was hardly the type for company. Hybrid could take over the night patrols. The Aquila had begun heading towards the caves when the call came, and with a grunt, he headed towards the source.
His sister had a habit for finding strays, it seemed. The scarred coyote arrived quietly, red feet padding against the packed earth that formed trails most often used by the coyotes. Ezekiel was used to traveling in darkness, but in his time since returning home he had learned the land like an extension of himself. His pelt betrayed him in the dark, as opposed to his sister whose darker coat allowed her some cover. Yet neither of the siblings were as obvious as the stranger, who was a striking pale thing. This was a curiosity he took obvious interest in, having rarely seen white animals in the Canadian wilderness.
The amber-eyed Aquila looked to his sister, perking a brow.
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