quite eradicated
He had slept late. He often did these days, something that he found would be disadvantageous when winter came. It was creeping from across the bay and the great passage north, and Ezekiel knew it would come suddenly. Of course, it would not be as perilous as the past winter—the summer had been warm and the fall temperate. Typical. They would see typical weather, save any bad patches in deep winter or the peculiar hot-spots of early spring. Nova Scotia was far different from what he was used to, having spent two years deep in the wilderness of the true Canadian wild. Costal as it was, they often had rather mild weather (except the occasional traumatic storm).
By the time he had eaten, it was dusk. His technique was a well-practiced and rarely-failing one. By startling birds, he could take them from the air. Lean as he was, a single bird could keep him full for a good while. He wished sorely for eggs, but the breeding season was not until summer. This desire, however, spurred him to head towards the village. If they had managed to keep sheep, why not birds? Birds meant eggs, and eggs were something that he greatly enjoyed. With any luck, Myrika would be awake—she was the only one he likened any sort of animal knowledge to, given that she had spear-headed the sheep project.
It was twilight when he reached the village. Ezekiel had downed a second Ptarmigan and it swung from where he had bound it to his bag. As he neared the area, the tall figure of a horse loomed ahead. A low mimicking whinny escaped his mouth, though the subtle gestures of low-speech were lost on the horse. She was unable to see in the dark as well as the coyote, who could read the slight turn of an ear and flick of a tail for what it was. Her master (though he did not view the relationship in such terms) was nearby.
“Myrika?” the Aquila called into the darkening evening.
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