boy with the blues

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-27-2012, 08:20 PM

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The wolf was young, barely an adult in Ezekiel’s eyes. Inferni granted their youth recognition early, but until they had seen a full year he did not consider them worthy of such titles. He noted the red splashes at the corners of the timber colored male’s eyes, but more then that, he noted the brazen way the boy looked and spoke to him. If he sought to conciliate Ezekiel, this was not the way to go about it. A single tooth showed itself as his whiskers curled up to the bronze streak across his muzzle.

Ezekiel did not move, but his body readied itself for combat. It was a subtle thing; his weight shifted to his toes, the muscles of his legs tightened and readied. A single hint was given in the swish of a dark tipped tail, red ring rippling against the cold air. “Gabriel is no longer Aquila here; I suggest you go back to Anathema,” he added, no friendliness in him for the pack. The musk of their dank land clung to the wolf, explaining so easily why he behaved in such a manner. No part of him trusted the cave-dwellers; while Inferni itself claimed a large expanse of caverns, they hardly lived underground. It was unnatural.

Without mention of his own rank, name, or connection to Gabriel, Ezekiel would see what kind of wolf his father had tempered. Gabriel had often humored them, even though his hatred for his own bloodline ran far sharper then Ezekiel’s did. Ezekiel hoped to judge him quickly and be done with this; he had no time to play games with a demanding brat.

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