Rage--goddess, sing the rage

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-03-2012, 05:14 PM

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The news from Enkiel was grim. He had spent the past several days traveling between his workshop and the village, always insisting on walking despite Ezekiel’s offers. When the jackal had come to his cave the night before it had been a long, disappointing conversation. The reality of Halo’s injury was far more than he imagined possible—her body was not the only thing broken. Ezekiel could recall the awful wait of his own broken ribs, but they had healed after time. What happened to her was far worse, and something he would not have wished upon any warrior. To fall in their prime without meeting death was a cruel fate.

At dawn, he had gathered Viggo from the wilds (having taken to allowing the stallion to roam as he would) and rode north. It was a trip he did not wish to take, but one that now settled within the pit of his stomach sourly. The horse under him seemed to sense this, and whinnied reassuringly as they neared the familiar building. With any luck Myrika would be up and able to take care of Viggo’s needs.

The building had become another small commune of sorts, made up of the Lykoi women and two children. He hoped they were sleeping or out; the sound of Kaena’s breathing, broken by occasional snores, carried from what he guessed was her room. Purposeful strides carried him to Halo’s door, where he hesitated only a moment before speaking. “Are you awake?”

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