Lachlan vs. The Fox Boys | Late Morning | Town Circle
It wasn't precisely true to say that Luke had been expecting the grass beneath their feet to turn on them under the hospices of Lachlan's Gift. No, Luke rarely expected many of the things that happened to him. He was, to put it mildly, rather unobservant in the best of circumstances. But he did have a good sense -- an inborn sense, really -- for when the very ground he stood on wasn't solid, and as his brother fell, Luke only stumbled, half-falling before the breeze beneath him buoying him up, his balance still teetering but his feet not quite touching the ground. "Why you--" he began, the current around him building, his lips pulled back in a snarl of rage.
He'd been just about to launch himself in Lachlan's direction when an arm snaked around his waist, holding him back. An arm too strong -- he knew, from decades of experience -- for him to slip away from. He wriggled against it anyway, though, at least for a few seconds, before turning his face up to look at his eldest brother, his eyes still more angry than relieved.
"It sure is enough!" Luke said, glaring daggers at Lachlan as he squirmed. "Leggo, Teague! He deserves what he gets!"