a serpent armed

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-28-2012, 01:29 PM

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The shock of pain that rippled along his back was one Ezekiel welcomed. He was snarling, grinning, full of a terrible need to kill this threat to his rule and to his clan. Yet something happened he did not expect; another shape wretched the dark thing from him. Almost instantly Ezekiel scrambled to his feet. Fury emanated from his body, a physical thing that made his fur ripple like black-tipped fire. For an instant he was his father’s son, tooth and nail and all aflame.

Helotes had come armed. He used this weapon, something foreign and forged, to cut through the thick tissue of his brother’s throat. Ezekiel remained still, staring. It should not have ended that way, he though crazily, and a ripple of anger directed itself towards his Hydra. Helotes had done what his rank required, but the internal thread was one that Ezekiel wished to ruin himself. He forced reason to his mind, forced himself to switch from the very apparent fury into a collected, cold mask. Ezekiel was a man of two worlds.

With steady steps, his head high and his posture suggestive of his rank as it rarely was, the coyote watched as the last remaining threat to him from within died. “Hydra,” he said sharply. “If you intend to bury this, do not do so on my land.” His amber eyes lifted to Helotes’ own, cold and clear. This was the only way. “God be with you,” he added, and this was the singular sign of his grace—he could not show weakness so soon, could not thank the man before him for doing what he had done because it was not a defense to be proud of. He said nothing more, but watched; certainly, they would need to talk, but not here. Not now, while hot blood still stained Inferni’s ground.

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