It could have happened to anyone. Ezekiel was simply to bear the brunt of the misfortune, as it seemed, for he did not recognize the danger until it was too late. The path was one he took often, and one that Viggo knew, so he had slipped into his own mind and allowed the stallion to move without guidance. This was why when the horse let out a scream and reared, Ezekiel lost his balance. He ungracefully jolted out of his thoughts and scrambled to grip the panicked horse’s mane, frantically calling to him. It was too little avail. Viggo was in pain, and he was frightened—nothing had ever hurt him in the way that this unseen assailant had. Ezekiel managed to dismount and jump away from the horse as he continued to turn wildly.

Blood flew up and hit the coyote in the face. He started, and saw with horror that Viggo was gushing blood from his front feet. Terror filled him. Again, he called to the horse, and only then did the stallion begin to settle. Sweat covered his body, and dark eyes rolled wildly, the whites visible and bloodshot. The stallion’s nostrils flared, and he whinnied in a high, panicky tone. Ezekiel did not blame him. A frantic howl was sent up demanding Enkiel’s presence and need for medical attention.

While he waited, Ezekiel tried his best to soothe the chestnut stallion. He stroked his face gently, speaking to him in the low-tongue and reassuring him he would be fine. Panic filled his chest, but below that, in his belly, rage twisted and grew like a sleeping leviathan. Something had done this to his horse. Someone had done this to his horse.

Enkiel’s slight form was welcomed with a wave, and the healer’s deep voice reassured Ezekiel that things would be fine. The man had healed his father and sister after all, so his faith within the strangely marked jackal was well founded. He nodded and warned the horse to try and stay still, and gently ran his hands down Viggo’s legs. They were as sturdy and thick as young oaks, and the horse fidgeted as Ezekiel reached his ankle. Shifting his weight, Ezekiel lifted the heavy hoof onto his own knee and set his jaw as blood seeped onto his fur.

While a student of medicine himself, Ezekiel had abandoned that path in order to better fit into his role as a leader. He was perhaps slightly more competent than his father had been, for Gabriel’s knowledge ended at setting bones. Some herbal knowledge belonged to him, but most of it had been forgotten. Amber eyes remained wide and focused on what the healer’s hands did, and he was relieved to see that the wound was not as awful as the blood made it seem. However, the horse’s frog was wounded deeply. He knew, even before Enkiel spoke it aloud, that his mount would be out of commission for a long time.

The fear began to ebb, replaced by that ever-growing dragon of rage that filled his blood with fire. He could not hide it—his fur rose in jagged spikes along his spine, visible only at the base of his tail. Hot fury made his vision darken, but he did as he was told and again drew up his stallion’s hoof. Darkness circled his head and filled it with dreams of vengeance on whoever had done such a thing. There had never been any issues with the trails before; why now?

Enkiel’s words were heard and met with a silent bought of fury. He had been riding Viggo for so long that they had formed a tight bond. While he was comfortable and more than capable of walking on his own, it was the principle of the matter that stung. To attack his horse was to attack him. This was an offense that would not be taken lightly.

With ease, ignoring the blood on his coat, Ezekiel rose. He rubbed the base of Viggo’s forelock and sighed. “Sorry, brother,” he said, speaking the low speech quietly. A snort from the horse was given, and with a motion for him to stay the Aquila moved towards the bloodied trail. It no longer carried any scent beyond that, but as he knelt, Ezekiel saw what had caused the damage. A series of sharp stones had been buried in the ground, pointed upward and covered by soft earth. He picked one up, eyeing it as if the culprit might have left their mark. Finally, furious, he flung the stone away. Red hands worked quickly to pull the shards out of the earth. It was a sizeable pile. “Enkiel, give me one of those cloths.”

With the cloth, Ezekiel bundled the rocks together. He intended on throwing them into the sea as to prevent their use further, and truly, he had no desire to ever see them again. They tore a small hole in the old cloth, but it would hold. He would carry it to the ocean after he tended to the horse; this was his immediate priority and one he would not abandon.

Enkiel’s words drew a sharp gaze from the Aquila, who hated to hear the words aloud. He knew. Paranoia or not, he knew that trouble had been brewing since the day Halo had been taken from her position. They thought him a weak leader, one that had no right to lead. This only proved that someone was out to destroy him, and as such, Ezekiel could only plan to face them with all the fires of the inquisition his faith had once led. “I know,” he rumbled lowly. “It will be dealt with.” A soft snort from the horse refocused his attention. The Aquila sighed heavily and returned to Viggo’s side. “Come on,” he called to Enkiel, who joined him. They walked side by side and kept watchful eyes on the horse’s painful limp, speaking only occasionally and not on the subject of the traitor in their midst.