there is a sickness in the roses

Ezekiel de le Poer · 07-07-2011, 07:18 PM

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They were at odds, but only in color—their demeanors reflected one another in stark similarity. Ezekiel was not civilized like the stranger, who wore signs of such manners, but he saw savagery within him as well. No more so was this prominently displayed when the peacock of a wolf (for while he looked hybrid enough, he was far too wolfish to be called coyote) bared his teeth. Salsola. The name of a weed. How appropriate.

A plastic smile flitted across his charming features, but his eyes remained hard. The stranger was mouthy, and his behavior reminded Ezekiel of a wildcat. This kept him all the more alert; wildcats were cruel and had robbed his raven-brother’s family of their offspring. Ibsen and Zola had survived by a superior fate alone. They had a greater destiny than their fallen brood. Yet he had not been able to find the cats, even after so many months. They had come and gone as if they had sensed they were being hunted. This, in part, was why Ezekiel distrusted the stranger even before the insults began to his father. He was, after all, not so savage as to misunderstand tone and slight, subtle signals. He bared his teeth in a smile/snarl.

“Inferni’s people are no longer my father’s—they are mine,” Ezekiel said sharply, though his tone shifted to one of dismissal almost instantly hereafter. “Those that are too weak-hearted to live amongst the clan make their own paths. It’s of no consequence to lose the unworthy.” Spoken like his sister, he reflected. His eyes sharpened, shifting to deep amber as he sought to read the words the stranger’s body might betray. “They must have crossed your borders to speak of such things,” he suggested, turning Viggo to a halt between the strange male and the western expanse between Inferni’s border at his back.

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