quite eradicated
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Only once before had Ezekiel heard about Scintilla, this mythical place in the desert to the south. His father had not spoken much of it, and this had never seemed odd to the boy. A warrior does not brag; he had learned that lesson from Tristan, long ago. It was tempting fate to speak of such things, especially before a battle. Those days with his father had been long ones, and drugged to prevent his side from aching, Ezekiel had passed in and out of lucidity in waves. The ribs had healed, eventually, but his spirit had been deeply wounded. So had his face, he had found, though even those scars had lessened. Only two survived, but the crow-wolf who was a demon had done his work.
More names, and more connections he did not know. Ezekiel listened but did not remain still, fixing himself a small pot of rain-water into tea. The fire did not take long to heat this, and while the leaves soaked, he pondered whether or not this other brother and woman would come soon. Something in his bones said they would.
“Hope all you want,” the golden man said lowly. He suspected, even now, why Gabriel had left. The ghastly shade that trailed him proved such a thing. “My…our father, he spoke of Scintilla to me before. I heard a little about the war, but he told me that it had ended.” By the Hand of God, no less.
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