guardians

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-13-2012, 01:28 AM

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There was much to be said for the power of perception. Mab was not this way simply by change; she had been born with a dominant sign at her back, and this was coupled with a leadership taken by force at a young age. She had not intended to lead a coup, but who would have claimed Chimera? A madwoman? The rapist son of the alpha who had not yet gone mad? Oh she would have liked to run then, but she had been obligated and obligations would keep her until her eye went blind and her mind threatened to break. She was lucky. Her cousin-turned-brother had not been, and she felt a great sorrow for his loss.

Each name was given a face; there was a woman who was their priestess of sorts, the darker shade to this Alaine woman, and she interested the harlequin wolf almost as much as the boy. Elijah—she took note of this, as well as the intention to seek him out later. For now, though, there was a need for formality.

Such rules, for example, meant she could not reassure the woman she saw nothing wrong with her son. There was a protectiveness there that was more than simply a mother; Mab was a mother twice over now and had watched her children grow and run off to all parts of the world. Last she had heard, Aren was in Freetown with relatives and Gawain was off in Russian and Zenaida had been caught up in the thrill of chasing a Roma boy (much to her displeasure) and Morgan was busy with her father’s family south of here, in Dublin. She was often grateful that Draco had assumed the title of her son; he kept her company when the others had run off to see the great world they lived in—some of which she herself intended, having sent them on missions as she had this boy.

Gabriel; she recognized the name of the prophet and focused her eye onto his own. He was a handsome man, scarred from head-to-toe, with a red brand on his shoulder and a cross around his neck. She found he matched her gaze and there was a flicker of recognition between them; he saw someone else, she believed, and she saw his father. They would have to talk long, these two. So too, she noticed, would the half-brother’s. Both knew; they had known of each other long before meeting, and now as men, they were able to view each other with six years of life behind them. Had they been boys, she was certain they would have been savage to each other. She expected nothing less of Draco, and the wildness in Gabriel was unquenchable.

They followed her silently, Gabriel close to his woman, Mab pleased by this display. She wondered if he was humoring her and keeping his mouth shut. Bowie often did the same, though her husband was a charming man and once been a lively fellow Now that he had aged, he craved quiet—it was lucky they had two properties. They would spend time in Dublin this winter, while Draco and his young wife held down the land in France.

Mab settled, shifting her slit-leg dress as she did so, favoring one leg over the other. Her limp was barely noticeable, though present. She was glad for the lack of snow, and let out a light laugh at the mention of it. “Oh, I’ve seen many an Irish winter, my girl. My mate, he breeds horses out of Dublin. We chose this day well, and I am glad for it.” She gingerly lapped at the tea, used to the heavy taste. While she favored lighter, eastern flavors, she could appreciate this.

Draco remained silent, and he and Gabriel kept looking at each other as if they were sizing up an opponent. The dark haired woman rolled her eyes and shot the red wolf a look. “I think my son,” she said the word firmly, getting the man’s attention. “Might be more comfortable when he retrieves our hawks. Perhaps you,” she looked now to Gabriel directly. “Could show him to the barn?”

The two men rose, Gabriel lingering to brush his hand across Alaine’s, and then departed. Satisfied, the older woman looked at the fair thing before her and smiled warmly. “I’m sorry to break up your party. Draco was never one for formal occasions, and I don’t believe your Gabriel is either. He looks like his father, you know,” she paused to lap at the tea, her smile fading. “I suspect that dark fur of his comes from his grandfather, though. He’s much bigger than either of them, if you can imagine that with his mother being a coyote.”

Another light laugh escaped her, and she refocused her eye back on the collie. “But enough, I came to learn about you and not talk about my nephew.”

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