Word Count » 568
The way in which Enkiel spoke was that of a foreigner; he was careful in the ways of pronunciation and term. When he had first begun the language several concepts had fallen short with him—there had been a learning come when it came to sarcasm, something he had not understood entirely until a year ago. Enkiel was scholarly, though, and part of his knowledge and his drive to learn meant he observed. While he could not fight a battle as well as the coyotes within this clan, he knew the means and methods to do so. A blow in certain areas could stagger a combatant, even one in a rage. If he used this to keep himself safe he would survive should violence ever touch him. It had not yet, despite the wars, and he was grateful for such a gift.
He nodded slightly at her explanation. The pups were reaching the age when they would be able to explore; he did not doubt they were strong enough to begin existing without her aid. Symera was likely somewhat capable, though Enkiel recalled her savagery and imagined that it might one day reflect on the children. While he was not opposed to such things, there was no need for the children to yet begin down that road. Discipline was needed and a child (even though she was an adult now, at least in the ranks) was not adequate for such a task.
Sangria red eyes followed her gaze, meeting them without fear. No one would dare raise a hand against him here. Enkiel was the singular master of healing within these lands and had held the ear of both this and the previous Aquila. Every whisper found his dark ears, every secret was stored within his lean, sharp head. There was no doubt that his heritage favored that of his mother’s blood. Samael had given him only the eyes and the savagery that allowed his life to continue this far. He had not killed, but he did not fear it. Death was familiar and it was a thing he combated with every herb and every new talent practiced on these coyotes.
Though she did not smile, he imagined there was a ghost of it within her blood-colored eyes. In many ways, as much as they were different, they were alike. He returned this not-there look with dark admiration—the only woman he had seen capable of bearing his children was now gone. There were no coyote women here who caught his eye or showed themselves respectable of bearing his seed. If he were to one day have children, he would ensure that they were magnificent.
The dark-haired jackal looked back to the twins, who had since moved on to an impromptu game of tag. While Oblivion dominated his sister physically, she was the faster of the two—he imagined this would one day reflect in the way they grew. “If I am not with a patient I see no harm in it. I would want my niece and nephew to learn well what is expected of them; and whatever else I see fit, should their mother allow it.” A faint coyote-smile brushed over his face, something that suggested he would do so with or without her permission. If the children were to be under his tutelage, he would see them rise to heights unattainable by his own blood.
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