11-10-2010, 02:38 PM
Jefferson's sudden flurry of activity was slightly out of character. She knew that her mate did not find the cold weather to be pleasant. However, he seemed to move tonight with a sense of relish she had seldom seen him possess. She did not question it, merely accepted his behavior and was grateful that he was happy. It eased her mind to observe him thus, but she did not care to join him quite yet.
Pripyat's voice echoed through the cabin shortly after Jefferson's departure. She knew that her son would be safe, and heard the door open and close before she could aritculate a reply. Geneva did not feel her voice welling inside of her throat to call after her son. Silence swallowed the threads of her soft voice; memories permeated her senses. She knew Pripyat to be safe, and so she did not try to break free of their hold.
The onset of winter always made Geneva introspective. It was something that she could not quite help. Her body knew, remembered flashes of terror, love, and loss melding together to recreate the ghost of one of the most formative experiences of her lifetime. It was something she could try to ignore by preoccupying herself, but lately she had fallen behind in her duties, as she had been ensnared by the creeping hands of time, pulling her backward, making her fit into the ghost of a feeling.
Geneva rose restlessly and followed the path her son had taken no more than ten minutes before, deciding to break free of the invisible net of memories for now. She wished to remain in the present and reaffirm the ties that kept her here - her son, her mate, and her packmates. It did not surprise her when she laid eyes upon new faces. She drifted like a silver colored shadow, her olive colored eyes peering out from the half-ruined mask of her face. The flesh of one eye stretched unnaturally, although she had regained the ability to see out of the lime hued orb.
Geneva lingered around the outskirts of the small gathering, wastching the firelight play on the faces of her mate and son. She loved to see Pripyat lingering so close to his father, and noticed, as she sometmes did, the resemblances in their bone structures. Geneva had only ever known Jefferson with imperfect features, but in her son's face she saw the echo of what might have been Jefferson's unmarred face. Although their son took after Geneva in coloration, there were definitely signs of his father's lineage in him too.
The small boned female tarried close to her packmate, Pendzez. He seemed withdrawn, although he was present. She sensed the absence of his family, and felt an answering ache in her heart for him. And she also felt blessed as she looked forward upon the faces of the two she loved most in this world. She lingered close to her comrade, resting her shoulder against his for a moment in a gesture of friendship before she settled a comfortable distance away, glad to be in the audience for this gathering for now.
Pripyat's voice echoed through the cabin shortly after Jefferson's departure. She knew that her son would be safe, and heard the door open and close before she could aritculate a reply. Geneva did not feel her voice welling inside of her throat to call after her son. Silence swallowed the threads of her soft voice; memories permeated her senses. She knew Pripyat to be safe, and so she did not try to break free of their hold.
The onset of winter always made Geneva introspective. It was something that she could not quite help. Her body knew, remembered flashes of terror, love, and loss melding together to recreate the ghost of one of the most formative experiences of her lifetime. It was something she could try to ignore by preoccupying herself, but lately she had fallen behind in her duties, as she had been ensnared by the creeping hands of time, pulling her backward, making her fit into the ghost of a feeling.
Geneva rose restlessly and followed the path her son had taken no more than ten minutes before, deciding to break free of the invisible net of memories for now. She wished to remain in the present and reaffirm the ties that kept her here - her son, her mate, and her packmates. It did not surprise her when she laid eyes upon new faces. She drifted like a silver colored shadow, her olive colored eyes peering out from the half-ruined mask of her face. The flesh of one eye stretched unnaturally, although she had regained the ability to see out of the lime hued orb.
Geneva lingered around the outskirts of the small gathering, wastching the firelight play on the faces of her mate and son. She loved to see Pripyat lingering so close to his father, and noticed, as she sometmes did, the resemblances in their bone structures. Geneva had only ever known Jefferson with imperfect features, but in her son's face she saw the echo of what might have been Jefferson's unmarred face. Although their son took after Geneva in coloration, there were definitely signs of his father's lineage in him too.
The small boned female tarried close to her packmate, Pendzez. He seemed withdrawn, although he was present. She sensed the absence of his family, and felt an answering ache in her heart for him. And she also felt blessed as she looked forward upon the faces of the two she loved most in this world. She lingered close to her comrade, resting her shoulder against his for a moment in a gesture of friendship before she settled a comfortable distance away, glad to be in the audience for this gathering for now.