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Phoenix Valley met its full potential with the settling of spring, the brute knew, though he had only seen one before. Jefferson admitted to none that he found a certain peace in nature he did not elsewhere; it was not that he would be embarrassed or emasculated if the pack knew of his adoration for the spring blossoms, the comforting breeze, the soothing rush of the coast's waves when they were not at their most frigid. His typical meanderings of the pack borders and territory masked his nature walks under the facade of going about his regular responsibilities, and he hardly argued against it.
Spring was still in its earliest form, of course, but with the grass slowly fading to emerald and cloudless skies hanging above, the season dispersed of his worries and anxieties, and he dwelt among the gardenias clear of mind, a peace within his scars. No, the grove would never top the beauty of Firefly Fields at dusk, but he did not spare it regardless.
A smell over the honeybees and their wealth of sugar drifted past, and with mild curiosity he followed it. No alarm in his step or eye, he came upon her non-threateningly, though with a brow raised. "Who are you?"
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