Sliiiight pp of him getting on Helotes. Also, he's rubbing his deltoid. Word Count » +3
The idea of someone attacking without warning was not uncommon to Enkiel; he had been here, after all, during the war. He knew that savages lived everywhere, and this was not something to be overlooked. Wolves were wolves, after all—the jackal praised the gods that he had not been born such. Divinity had been graced with his blood, though his mortal form was hardly capable of what his spirit could manage. Sa’adat alone had been told the truth, and she had believed him wholly; these heathens and non-believers would not understand what it was to be a god reincarnated.
Luckily, the bed was made from strong wood and barely bowed under the little combined weight from the three. Two small bodies barely accounted for a second person, though the lean jackal was not concerned with this. The frame was low enough to the ground that even if it did happen to collapse, it would be only a few inches. He himself joined the two on the bed, and settled onto the darker coyote’s rear. It would keep him steady and allow for the proper amount of force to be given, something that leaning would not allow. Uncaring as to whether or not the coyote minded him straddling the darker man, Enkiel bent and began pressing his palms over Helotes’ back.
His method was one of detection, aiming to find where the pressure lay as well as sense the muscles underneath. “You are lucky,” Enkiel commented, finding a knot and applying pressure with his fingers in strokes that followed the muscle. “If she had cut this,” he emphasized by rubbing at the swollen area near the shoulder blade. “You would be crippled.” Like Gabriel, he thought, though did not speak it aloud. The ex-Aquila was a memory now, for he had left them for the woman he loved. Enkiel did not find fault in this; he had led faithfully until his son assumed the role, and his purpose had passed.
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