Her gods were old, but Gabriel’s faith was stronger still. It had led him to destroy hundreds, just and unjust alike. If the call came he would do so again. This was why he did not fear her or what Shadow she carried. The old gods had gone up in the vast smoke of burning witches, surviving only in pockets and pools of those who dared recall their names.
She screamed and threw herself at him. He saw her body shift and readied himself for it. With speed not half what it had been in his youth the hybrid rose to meet her. Massive and solid his body went low, hitting her in the chest. Teeth connected with his ear, tearing it, and again with the thick fur around his neck. Then she was thrown from him, and Gabriel, his hackles only now raising, bellowed: “THEY ARE OURS! And I will not allow you to risk them for grief!”
Lowering his head once more, bullishly, the black-brush wolf bared his teeth. “I will do what I must to protect them, and to protect you from yourself.”
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