legacy

Ezekiel de le Poer · 02-21-2012, 03:04 AM

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The span of time allowed for memory to fade, for this was the way of all things. Lines pulled out and repetition settled in. Without change, with a constant, one soon settled into a lapsing pace that allowed for small errors to be forgiven. Some things could never be let go—Ezekiel still hated the madness in his own family for what it had done to Talitha, and still blamed her for costing him a dear friend, and equally blamed his father for abandoning the clan. His world was a complex place that often demanded escape in this repetition; he hunted, he ran, he slept. By doing this he could let his mind go dark.

So in instances like this his mind flittered and moved like a bird, unable to escape the cage of self. Ezekiel was a bright boy and always had been, but he was one trapped by confines of savagery and the inability to let himself rise above such chains. He could not forget the forest or the tundra of the north. He could not let go of those dark nights and those even darker hours when he had little but himself for company.

The Aquila nodded absentmindedly and looked up as the speck of dark began to descend. Viggo slowed at a subtle motion, and Ezekiel extended one forearm to take the weight of the raven. Large as he was, Ibsen still was dwarfed by the other birds who now called Inferni home. By speaking in the cawing, raspy tone of birds, he indicated for them to follow. He went on further, describing the area with great detail, but Ezekiel could not fully understand much beyond the concept of a pass suitable for the horses. With a response of thanks, in the equally rough cry, the Aquila looked to his companions.

“We need to follow him; the horses will need to move faster,” he added as an afterthought, looking to Kaena. Satisfied, he looked back to the raven. “Ready?”

“Keep up!” The raven said. It was strange for Ezekiel to hear him in high speech; the bird imitated his vocal patterns quite well, having been exposed to them above all others. Ibsen was capable of imitating further sounds as well—he made a quite accurate horse now and again. Squeezing the sides of the stallion, Ezekiel urged the horse into a trot. Ibsen took off, leading them towards what the coyote could now hear—the river.

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