How could he not believe in blood? Above all other things, above his family, above his instincts, above God the Lord on High, there had been blood. It had brought him into the world and it had cut his body with strange patterns and constellations whose meanings he alone knew. They were made from strangers, friends, the teeth and claws of dead men that no longer haunted his dreams. One alone stood, which had been his first death. Baneesh had been his death, and the wolf who had killed the nameless woman was his baptism through blood. There had been one since then, when he had become so unholy that the darkness that lingered oh so close to the light sought his sanity. The scar on his palm proved this. Rikka had known, in a way—she had found him.
She sunk from his wrath, but it was just as well. While not directed at her, he could see their mother in her face, in her eyes which would never be half as cruel as any of their family. Without another word, Gabriel turned on his heels and was gone, a blackened streak against the tall grass, storming off to confront Kaena and demand an explanation.
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