this was not a good make-up post ;-;
In some way he could understand her need and desire to chase a ghost, and how it waned with each passing day. Once, Ezekiel had killed for his sister. Now he could not bear the thought of seeing her, even to the point of hiding the gifts she had made, of seeing a painted face of what had been once and would never be again. Yet he could not bring himself to burn the damn things. He could not imagine facing the guilt of destroying something she had put so much effort and love into.
While he lived in a cave, the ruins of mankind were equally unnerving to Ezekiel. If she had expressed discomfort he would have echoed the thought and they might have gone on. Instead he remained cautiously bottled up, and mirrored her position. The hide was placed near him and from this a length of meat, clearly ripped by claws and teeth, was produced. He held it out to her. “I rarely do,” he commented idly. “Never with red meat. Fire works wonders for the taste of duck though,” the Aquila added, smiling faintly. He enjoyed the taste of seared fat and ate it often, though the amount of calories he took in rarely outnumbered the amount burnt by his endless duties.
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