art by crypsis
Even now, Max tried to read Ezekiel has he had been taught. The concept of speaking through combat was one thing he understood, and the subtler motions that others missed were not lost on him. He was not fluent in it, just as he was not fluent in the tongue of horses or birds. Ezekiel was more capable then he was in all of these aspects. Max tried so hard to advance, to reach higher levels, but he was stunted by the needs of his more important roles. Fighting was what led him on. Destruction was what led him on. He could not escape himself.
The white dog bristled as Ezekiel closed the distance between them, but he did not move to defend himself. This was not a fight. It was a war of words and of wills, and even now, Max knew he would lose. He could not break the Aquila down as easily as he simplified other things.
“We’re at war,” he argued. “You’re our leader. You don’t let anyone leave alone but it’s okay for you to do it—what if you die, Ezekiel? What then?”
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