Sirius was the antithesis of Ezekiel. They were creatures made from different worlds; one savage and wild, one cunning and street-bred. Perhaps in another lifetime they would have been brothers. The Aquila smiled a plastic thing that could have been charming if not for the nasty twist in his snout. Gabrielson; what a funny way of putting things. The scarred coyote listened to Sirius’ proposal and found they were equal in this. Ibsen could see only so much from the air, and he did not desire to risk the bird and send him to earth.
With a low utterance to the stallion, the golden pair trotted after the darker duo and came to ride at their side. Ezekiel found the use of reigns and a saddle useless when on Viggo, given his ability to control the horse with words and muscle movements, but figured that there were those who still needed such things. “Dahlia de Mai is no more,” he said, looking to the green-eyed man. “I suspect we might find what remains of them across the mountain.” This, too, displeased him. Mountain or not, if they were any closer than they had been they were still dangerous. Ezekiel knew little of Anathema yet, but viewed them with suspicion. It was unnatural to live in a mountain.
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