Aemon had not been alive for the war, no; but he'd heard every story there was, save for Gabriel's. The ashen coyote shifted his weight in the seat when Ezekiel rose, stretching his back and yawning widely in spite of himself. His jaw jerked closed, remembering his manners as his half-brother returned, prepared for tea-making. Aemon smiled as Zeke sat, crimson eyes flickering to the pot, watching as bubbles formed deep in the water. It did, quite a few years ago; before I was born, he said, but there are still plenty of unwelcome visitors. Despite the tentative truce, it wasn't uncommon for Scintilla to be attacked even now; but their attackers were infrequently prepared for their tactics. A glaze fell over scarlet eyes as he remembered the stories vividly, imagining if he himself had been fighting against their enemy, a smile on his face. The stories all say how well the coyotes of Scintilla fought, how they wanted nothing more fiercely than to protect their own homes and families, he said, shaking his head in awe of the idea of it. Gabriel was there to see it, he said in a breath, wishing he had been, too.
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