There were too many things that had led the woman to this very place. There hadn't been very much for her to do since Jefferson's return from AniWaya. Geneva had spent a little time with Dawali, and she had liked him. But she was glad to have Jefferson back; the one-eyed Patriarch was good for this place, and this place was good for him. Geneva believed that with absolute conviction. She had been heartened to see the reactions of those who resided her. Beside just outright surprise at Dawali's proclamation about the change in leadership, there had been a real show of support for Jefferson. She wished that Jefferson could have seen it, but she would have to be content with telling him later tonight.
Truth be told, she had not seen much of the scarred wolf since his return. She had kept to herself, a bit put off with his absence. As much as she had wanted to rush to him, she knew that that would undermine the example that both he and Dawali had set. In the event that something were to happen to either Jefferson or her, she was certain that Dawali would step in to help establish order. She had to embody the confidence she had placed in the males, lest her actions differ from her words. When she had told the congregated pack that she would trust Dawali with her life, she had meant it. She trusted Jefferson's judgement. Still, it stung that he had left, and that nary a word had passed between them since.
She wondered what it must be like, to be in the war-torn packs now. And immediately, her thoughts were drawn to Addison, who now resided within Dahlia de Mai. She was worried for the girl; she knew that Jefferson was too. He had been her father, for all intents and purposes. And in fact, it had been here in the Quarry, where she had first seen the depth of that love.
Lime green eyes sought the perilous edge where so many months ago she had snatched Addison from quite a tumble. She felt the metallic edge of fear in her throat. Narrowing green eyes, she stared at the ledge for a long time. She was tired of this - tired of letting fear make its home inside of her. And with a strange sense of resolution, she made unsteady steps toward the ledge. Inch by inch, it became easier to move farther out. And it was with misplaced confidence and a triumphant smile that she stepped forward once more...and slipped on the rain-slick stone.
With eyes wide open, she was only aware of the rush of cold wind against her face, followed by the rest of her. And memory, like grains of sand in a sieve, rushed up with the torrent of wind that buffeted her. She recalled with startling clarity, several things at once. The powerful build of a white wolfess, slick with blood as twitching bundles inched their way toward light and life. The vision of blue eyes, first content and afraid, and then narrowed in anger. Distantly, Jordan's yellow eyes and the sensation of him brushing past her. She had been young then, so young. The rattle in a pair of tiny lungs, as Shea's final breath escaped her mouth, before her girl had even seen her first and last sunset.
And then Geneva closed her eyes, and one vision made the rest that rushed passed her seem still. The jagged lines, the script of violence, slashed across the face with a cruel mouth; the lines of that face easing, becoming softer almost. And the single eye, electric in its energy, vibrant green...
...and with the jolt of impact, and the sickening grind of bones, she knew no more.