quite eradicated
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Things went by day in and day out and Ezekiel watched the world move. He lived with the earth moving under his feet, but he no longer felt it turn. Part of him had been lost, eons ago, and part of him forgot what it was to know that all things were connected. Bits of himself had been ripped asunder; his family was gone, save cousins, always cousins. He had lost Alaine and he had destroyed her son to do such a thing. Everyone he had cared for had walked away from his life and into the unknown. Alone, he remained. Alone, he grew bitter and calloused and cold like the wind.
His body ached. It ached more because of his training sessions with Max, but they were needed. Max was growing exponentially. The boys halfbreed blood was strong, and while Max hated the fact he did not resemble a coyote, Ezekiel had told him that winter would show his worth. Max would become a ghost in the fog when the snow fell. So too, he realized as he approached his home, would Aemon.
This half-brother was a conundrum. Gray coyotes were not entirely unusual, but they were in these parts. Lean and sharp, but…controlled. Ezekiel did not know the term “militaristic” or he would have used it. Aemon carried himself in ways that the others did not. Even Ezekiel carried himself differently—he moved with a predator’s stance, wary but confident—wary because he was paranoid, wary because the stag—
“What are you making?” He asked. His voice was rough from smoke. Its scent clung to him, tobacco and cloves, heavy and sweet and at odds with the other more savage scents of musk and male he oozed.
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