Lone Star Mountain just a stoic statue, fit for a nobody

@Skaigona lingers close to him, always. ezra does not ask, but he thinks she is afraid he, too might vanish like anselm and gideon if he strays too far out of her sight.

he is hungry and tired but bolstered by stolen energy from his grief and fury; like a vessel welcoming those primordial feelings older than god, harboring them into his mouth where they linger like sacrosanct words he dare not speak.

he desires only to find his brother and father and make sure his mother is safe.

he does not want to stop; would push to keep going if not for the fact that amadeo could not follow. not right now. and it is so very easy for ezra to point the finger of blame; choosing to point it at mortal flesh instead of divine countenance of deities.

it was only after shifting this way and that, that he finally settles down. but sleep is not kind to him.

flashes of murky, shadow clad visions haunt him: not corporeal enough for him to recall when he jerks awake; startled.

vessel, vessel, vessel —

vessel of rage, vessel of grief, vessel of the wretched and divine.

he rises to his paws quickly, and steps into the low light, letting the soft drizzle cool his heated skin. golden gaze staring at the low hung moon; brow furrowed.