It had always bothered him that he knew nothing of that pack to the west. Jefferson had passed by it countless times, paying visits to their allianced AniWaya (which in and of itself was a terrible trek from Phoenix Valley), not to mention the times he'd stopped by Crimson Dreams. Jefferson was aware that he spent most of his time at home, usually too protective of his pack to bear leaving it. His members weren't the most vicious of sorts, nor were most of them fighters outside those in the higher ranks like Pendzez and Ty. It was not that he couldn't trust his underlings to defend themselves, but Jefferson preferred to be present to just do it himself. After all, nobody expected a one-armed cyclops to still be capable of a fighting style.
Since the day was sunny and warm and he felt a need to enjoy it, the cyclops left. Geneva was aware of his traveling; he'd been to Dahlia recently as well and the pack had been fine without him -- it was just that the concept of war, even if his pack was uninvolved, pressured and worried him constantly. The last thing he wanted was a massacre to happen when he himself was not even home.
Cour des Miracles, from what he'd observed, kept to itself much like his own pack did. He knew nothing of its members, its leaders, its way of life. The pack itself was an enigma, and nobody had told him otherwise. It had been similar with AniWaya at first when the tribe had first appeared, but Jefferson was fortunate enough to acquaintance himself with the leaders and form an alliance, which was useful in the war. He hoped, if nothing else, that there was a possibility of the same in Cour des Miracles. It was not a long walk and the weather was fine; he arrived at their borders in a genuinely good mood, though as always the cyclops walked with tenseness in his steps. Standing where he believed the borders to lay, the brute breathed in the spring-like air deep, shaded his eyes from the sun with his good hand, and observed. There was no urgency to alert them of his arrival.