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“I don’t doubt that,” Ezekiel commented idly, turning his head skyward to note the position of the raven. They were following him more-or-less, though Ezekiel trusted Viggo to find his footing along the burnt ground. With winter yet upon them, the barren world was blanketed in soft white. It confused his senses, though Ezekiel did not remember the land as he imagined Kaena did. For this reason he did not presume to know their course, but instead followed the path of the raven and trusted him to find a crossing at the river. “Our ways are not those of others; intelligence makes for morality and most people seem to find ours lacking. They forget we are creatures of flesh and blood, and that we have a right to live and defend our home as they do.”
It was a simplistic view on the way things were. Ezekiel had an eye for politics and understood social structures as they grew, even if they were false and peculiar in the way of the wild. He was a man torn between two worlds and it was apparent by the way he carried himself and spoke. “My father told me he learned of the skulls from Scintilla. Aemon and Ithiel are from there, and Aemon told me the practice still stands. Enemies will know of Inferni’s might long before they try our strength; and by now, it’s as much ritual as it is practical.” He shrugged, unsure if she would understand. Often, he found himself speaking in riddles despite his desire to be clear.
He cast a glance back to the rising points of the mountain range behind them. If only this land could support them, he might once more turn Inferni to live a tramontane life, away from the bickering packs and enemies on all fronts. Yet realistically, no massive clan such as their own cold live here. A loner, perhaps, but not for long. “Anyhow, I’ll fit you in for lessons when we’re free. You can spar with Max as well—he’s skilled for his age but he’s still young. Even Vesper could help you; she’s still learning how to use her body, now that she’s changed.”
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