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[/html]And with rising cries and frustration, Silas was swept away. Back into the shroud of protection Inferni allowed him, for whatever reason, through death and bloodlust. He stayed for love of someone else, not for love of land; the brute could only wonder what kind of wretched Inferni creature could possibly hold such worth in the young Russian's mind, but Jefferson knew he would never find out. The Russo disappeared, departing at full speed, leaving Jefferson standing alone in the dust and snow, breathing in murder and blood at the line where Inferni called borders.
He thought of Ryan, just briefly, and how the peaceful girl had called Inferni her home as well. He had greatly respected her, and so had DaVinci—to the point that the former Savant had risked it all for her, including the safety of Phoenix Valley itself. The cyclops shook his head, heaving a sigh, and turned on his heel. If Silas needed him, needed more wretched wisdom from a wicked man, the Russian knew where to find him. As the Patriarch stepped gingerly past the skull-tipped stakes of the border, a light snowfall drifted down. By the time he would reach home, he would be covered in it. By the time he reached home, he would have willingly left Silas behind.
Perhaps that boy was a lost cause after all.