boy with the blues

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-21-2012, 12:27 PM

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(837) Skip everything but the last two paragraphs, really. ;-; PP of Kaena approved by Sie.

Hunting was becoming much easier with the winter wearing on. He had managed to take down another reindeer with Max’s help, and the duo had taken this back to the Mansion to sort through. Their arrival had been met by the doggish hybrid, Rémy. Since his arrival, the Cajun had begun taking care of the food-related stuff. One would be hard pressed to find the kitchen without the man in it, often fussing over various drying herbs and spices, cleaning and organizing and sorting through the stored goods in order to prepare various things. He helped the two bring in the kill and while Ezekiel began to cut the skin from the animal, began to argue with Max.

“You’re a tahyo, son!”

“What does that even mean?” The white hybrid whined, his teeth gleaming.

“It means you got eyes bigger than your belly!”

The hybrid threw his hands up and shook his head. “You’re crazy, Rémy! Just because I’m skinny doesn’t mean I can’t eat a lot!”

A muffled bang caused Ezekiel to look up from his work. Seconds later the door to the kitchen flew open as a gray-coyote with one fierce eye and a crooked snarl on her face entered. “What the hell is going on in here?”

The two men balked, and Zeke smirked. He began to saw through the tendons of the deer’s neck. Rémy huffed at Max and approached the older woman, bushy tail wagging behind him. “Oh don’t you worry ‘bout a ting, Mamere, we just havin’ a talk ‘bout what I’m gonna make for y’all.”

Kaena grunted at him and moved towards her grandson. Ezekiel glanced up at her and stopped what he was doing. Though she looked irritable, he caught a glimmer of amusement in her eye and smiled at her as he rarely did others these days. “You hungry?”

“If I say yes will that get them to shut up?”

Abashed, Max’s ears fell back. While not a blood relative of the old woman, he (as most members seemed to do) considered her something of a figurehead. Despite his age he still felt like a child around the gray coyote and did not want to offend her. To the contrary, Rémy took that as a sign she was indeed hungry and let out a barking laugh. “Oh say no mo’, say no mo’! I’m gonna fix you up a meal fit fo’ a queen! Come on, tahyo, we gotta get a few mo’ things.”

He grabbed the boy by his arm despite the rising protests. As the two went outside, their argument rose above the whistling wind. Ezekiel rolled his eyes and severed the head with a sharp crack. Kaena looked to him at the sound. “Do that a lot, hm?”

“It’s easier to carry. I need the brains to tan the hide,” he explained, pulling the hide up. A skinless reindeer rested on the table, ready to be butchered. Ezekiel licked his hand and tilted his head as the still-ongoing argument outside drifted over the wind. Kaena smiled toothily at him. “You found yourself some good ones, Zeke.”

He snorted. “They’re something alright. Mind keeping an eye on them until I get back? I’ve gotta drop this off at the caves,” the Aquila pulled the hide and head to his chest. Kaena waved him off, and quickly the golden man headed to the stable. Both Viggo and Oblak were within, having been taken on the hunt. The horses were used to hunting, which was the first step in training them for combat.

The chestnut stallion whinnied at his companion, and pushed against the door. Ezekiel spoke to him shortly, and between the two horses, found himself the third wheel of the conversation. Oblak was not as hot-tempered as Myrika’s mare, but she managed to hold her own against the burly stallion. She was more patient about being let out, and lingered near the bigger horse while Ezekiel prepared himself for the trip. He mounted Viggo and carried the dead animal in his lap, traveling quickly westward. The dark mare followed behind, and they covered the ground quickly.

Ezekiel let the pair run off after he reached the caves, and left the hide in the secondary cave he used for such projects. He was ready to head back when a wolfish cry caught his attention; he stiffened and rose, ears high. A low rumble escaped his throat as he began traveling towards the source, considering calling the horses back. Instead he quickened to a jog, the bow and arrows on his back resting snugly; the wolverine pelt kept his back warm and the bow resting comfortably. The bronze-red hybrid slowed as he spotted the wolf.

It was a young man, outside but close to the borders. His eyes narrowed, irritated by the sight, and he announced himself with a commanding bark. As he neared he caught a scent that made the fur under his quiver bristle: Anathema. “What do you want?” He demanded, posture suggestive of his rank.

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