While his duty did not require him to scout the borders, Max often trailed those nearest the caves, moving from south to north. He had never run into trouble, but he was frightful now—Halo’s attack had made his aggression all but double, worried that others might now come while their Triarii was wounded. Enkiel had not emerged from his home and Ezekiel was unwilling to speak of the matter yet. With his body tense and his mind a thousand places, Max did the only thing he could do; he ran. It was something Ezekiel had prompted him to focus on when he could not deal with his rather terrible mood swings, and it did help.
Four-legged, he barreled across the landscape and towards the borders, head and tail even with his spine, eyes gleaming with the furious spitz-dog madness. If he had been there, maybe she wouldn’t be hurt. He had wanted to protect this place, and he hadn’t been there…but Myrika and Ithiel had come, and they had saved her, right? What more could be done?
He slowed to a trot and then to a stop, panting. It had been a grueling run, but he was hardly tired. In his chest a powerful heart beat endlessly, heaving against his broad frame. Max was, without a doubt, no longer a child. Almost one-hundred pounds in this form, he was more dog than coyote in body and a formidable opponent…at least he imagined it. Without a true fight to base his skills against, he knew only training. He wanted more.
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