I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.

Gabriel de le Poer · 03-07-2010, 10:53 PM

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Twice before had Gabriel seen war. Of those times he had only once fought a demon. The wolves combating Scintilla were only arrogant, brutal pigs. They did not come with wickedness in their souls, only greed in their heart. One after one, those wolves had fallen to that very sin. So too, did the coyotes fall—Gabriel watched as his friends and companions suffered and were buried under mounds of dirt, most without any mark to prove their worth. Two badges made his worth apparent; one around his neck and the other cut into his face. While the Saint had protected him both to and from SoCal, it had been Gabriel’s God alone that had driven him home.

He had work to do. A shadow passed over his back, and Gabriel paused what he was doing long enough to see the source. Even though he saw anger in Jedidiah’s face, it was not enough to move him. Nor, further, were the words. A prayer, as meaningless here as a feather in the wind, carried off with that cold breeze. Gabriel had returned to digging long before the coyote had joined him, and did not object to the help. For several long minutes the two tore the earth asunder, and once he was satisfied with the depth, the Aquila began the arduous task of moving the bodies. He dragged them with his teeth, the strong wolf-body of his barely straining to move the corpses. It was apparent he wished no assistance in this part of their work.

Once the three bodies were piled into the ground, Gabriel quickly made to cover them. This took less time then digging the hole, especially with a second party present. What they were left with was a pile of soft, wet earth, and the stink of death all around them. It was only then that Gabriel spoke. “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio,” he began, deep voice remarkably cold. “Contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude…” His voice rose, and the coy-wolf exhaled. “Amen,” he sighed, and looked to the south. Somewhere out there, a demon was waiting for him.

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