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As quickly as that, he was relieved of his position. Some might have fought and struggled, but this burden was never one Metetzili wanted. Dieriel should have led them, but she'd sullied herself -- or, at least, that was how Eterne viewed it. Mete had never quite agreed, but after all, she was his sister. Instead, that burden had fallen squarely on the flaxen-hued coyote's shoulders. Mete's eyes, glued groundward, lifted up toward Tlantli and searched. He read it plainly on her face, confirming his thoughts, and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. They drew upward for a brief moment, and then the golden-haired coyote nodded, dipping his head toward his half-sister.
Yes, he agreed, agreeing to all of it. Yes, and yes, and yes, and yes, he said, repeating it forcefully in his head. You are -- you -- the Kimaris family, he said, finally. It is yours. Relief was written plainly over Mete, and he settled onto the flat, battered cushion that served as his bed. Though the truest part of his duties were over, Mete knew he still must act as though he headed the Kimaris in public for all those who still cared to look. They were of little consequence anymore, of course, but they could not draw Baphomet's attention, nor the attention of any other unsavory characters. I did no favors for Mantus, though, he added, quietly. There -- were never any children.