art by crypsis
There was a cryptic answer in the Aquila’s words, but Max understood its meaning. He had not gone to Salsola for nothing. Alone in the north their two kingdoms were ruled by coyotes and made up of those with the bloodline. Lykoi’s lived in the Thistle Kingdom—they would not be immune to the hatred of the men who came with God’s sign and steel. A terrible truth was made of this knowledge, but the word genocide was unknown to him, and the concept was vague still.
Satisfied in part, Max let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. The Hastati looked out to the east and the distant shape of the mansion, half-hidden by the overgrown trees that surrounded it, and sorely wished that so many did not make the building their home. It seemed folly to him now, and he was glad to live deeper in their claim.
Without another word he left the Aquila, trailing towards his own home. He would sleep until nightfall and pick up a patrol when it was dark. His fur would be a beacon in the night, but the hybrid welcomed the chance for combat. Max welcomed the chance to show what sort of monster he was.
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