quite eradicated
The faith that Ezekiel held onto was one muddled and dampened by time and doubt. He had always been a boy who looked to the sun, and verily he still did, but for every moment of brightness and equal shadow was born. Cynicism had not yet taken him, though a bitterness burned and twisted in his heart. How could it not, when everyone he had ever cared about abandoned him? In many ways, he was still that young boy crying for his family and being led away from home in the darkest hour of night.
His red hands took her prize carefully, recognizing the work that must have gone into such an endeavor. With great care he began to look over her writing, considering what she had said. Even after the first few strokes of letters and shapes and words, he knew that the stories within had come from someone who lived through them. “Not in that war, no,” he admitted, though his eyes remained on the book. Ezekiel read quickly; he had learned to do so while recovering from broken ribs. He devoured words like some great beast that hungered for stories of old. She had much yet to write, and he was curious as to what she would say about him.
Ezekiel closed the book and passed it back to her. “When you finish, I would like to read that.” A pause. Then, if suddenly remembering why it was he had come, Ezekiel let out a sigh. “I do have a question for you,” he began. “Have you ever heard of keeping birds before? Not like Ibsen, but a bird to use like we use the sheep you captured.” Hopefully she had; he had not traveled to many packs and thus had little clue such a thing was not only possible, but going on around them.
@import url(http://bloodandfire.sleepyglow.net/publ ... s/zeke.css);
</style>
[/html]