For a moment, Geneva was paralyzed by the sight of her estranged mate. But that only lasted for a moment as her world re-centered itself around its new anchor. She curled her body protectively around the boy's body as she watched Jefferson's eye thin into a familiar glare. The Whilom's coat blended almost perfectly with the color of the boy's coat. She had seen that look on his face before, in the months before they had truly come to know each other. She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach as he turned his eye to her.
He turned his back on her, something that she should know to expect. It was an act that came hand-in-hand with the look on his face. She turned her olive colored eyes to glance at the expression on Pripyat's face, and found that the boy's blue eyes were tracing the path of disfigurement marring one side of her face. Then he turned to look questioningly at the Patriarch's retreating form. He was a bright boy, and she could see the inner workings of his mind as he compared the similarities between their faces.
He was a child, and a trusting one at that. If he questioned Jefferson's appearance, she could let him disappear and tell Pripyat nothing. But her heart longed for more, even as she recalled with sorrow, fear, and anger the night of his birth. She had called for him, and he hadn't come. She had called for him since, and he still hadn't come. It was either because he did not want to, or because he was not around. It didn't take the hurt away. She had tried to come back for him, to share Pripyat's coming into the world. But she had brought him into the world alone, and had felt that way since.
There was a sharp edge to her face as she raised it to him, any soft whisper gone. "Jefferson!" She took a few steps forward, standing now in front of the boy. "Run from me if that is your wish, but do not leave your son."