http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... parrow.png);background-position:bottom;background-repeat:no-repeat;"> wc355 -- The summoning cry over the whistling winds brought the thick-furred brute to his feet; Jefferson had been dozing, as always, huddled as contentedly as possible beneath a tree. It was freezing, but hell, the ranch house was too far a walk and the cabin was a morose and solemn place where he felt his presence unwanted and unnecessary. Recovery was not always a group process; Iskata was aching everywhere, body and soul. He knew it. She was sharing double, complete blindness compared to the bitter hybrid and his slash-scarred eye. Jefferson's vision hadn't been completely lost, no, but his vision on life had become impaired much like Iskata's. He knew what she was feeling. He knew, however, that his fall from grace that she'd endured was still the opposite of his own. He'd starved himself, grown emaciated, lost an eye and partial usage of a leg, not to mention a couple dozen gashes and scars throughout his pelt. Iskata had lost her sight--which had struck at her charisma and esteem. He knew how she felt. He still could not do anything about it.
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