08-02-2010, 02:01 PM
Despite her reunion with her mate, Geneva was far from reconciling herself with the aftermath of her fall. All of that had been mere months ago, but it could have been lifetimes. Everything she had felt, and the person she had been before, seemed to be residual. She felt those times fading into the background with every new beat of her son's small, strong heart. He was gaining independence, slowly and surely every day. He pulled away from her in small degrees, but she felt those tiny gaps as though they were colossal holes in her heart. Despite how acutely she felt this, she allowed him to wander bit by bit, although she was never far from him. He was her miracle, her blessing; he had fought against fate to be born in the first place, and she would not deny him the fullest life possible.
Geneva was thinking that it was perhaps time to move on from Raven Beacon. Although it had served as her sanctuary and stronghold since Pripyat's birth, she felt that it was time to return to a more central location within her packland. Pripyat, although quietly curious and very explorative, had not had much interaction with anyone other than herself, and briefly, his father. Although she coveted the time they shared with no secrecy, she knew it was time for them to emerge. He was old enough and strong enough now to go out into the world, a little bit at a time.
The mother-son duo excited the structure as they normally would. Their light colored gray pelts seemed to meld together at they stood side by side. The slim wolfess' eyes scanned the sandy shoreline, but every few seconds olive colored eyes would return to Pripyat. He had a slight build like his mother, but it was becoming clear that he had some of his father's height. Geneva was a slight wolfess, barely retaining the size of an adult. By the time Pripyat was a half year old, perhaps a little older, he would be about the size of his mother.
"Look, Mother. A lady," the boy with icy blue eyes said as he looked ahead of them. His voice was soft like his mother's but it did not have a whisperlike quality at the edges of his words. It was just the sort of speech he was used to, and he had modeled his speech after Geneva's. She was the only one he had really spoken to. Beneath the softness, his voice was well-rounded, clear. Geneva lifted her imperfect features warily to see who was now on what she considered "their" beach, but was relieved. It was someone she knew, Xeris. Her curious boy threw caution to the wind and began his approach at a calculated pace, trotting but not quite rushing to greet the white wolfess. "Do you know my father?" he asked curiously.
Geneva was thinking that it was perhaps time to move on from Raven Beacon. Although it had served as her sanctuary and stronghold since Pripyat's birth, she felt that it was time to return to a more central location within her packland. Pripyat, although quietly curious and very explorative, had not had much interaction with anyone other than herself, and briefly, his father. Although she coveted the time they shared with no secrecy, she knew it was time for them to emerge. He was old enough and strong enough now to go out into the world, a little bit at a time.
The mother-son duo excited the structure as they normally would. Their light colored gray pelts seemed to meld together at they stood side by side. The slim wolfess' eyes scanned the sandy shoreline, but every few seconds olive colored eyes would return to Pripyat. He had a slight build like his mother, but it was becoming clear that he had some of his father's height. Geneva was a slight wolfess, barely retaining the size of an adult. By the time Pripyat was a half year old, perhaps a little older, he would be about the size of his mother.
"Look, Mother. A lady," the boy with icy blue eyes said as he looked ahead of them. His voice was soft like his mother's but it did not have a whisperlike quality at the edges of his words. It was just the sort of speech he was used to, and he had modeled his speech after Geneva's. She was the only one he had really spoken to. Beneath the softness, his voice was well-rounded, clear. Geneva lifted her imperfect features warily to see who was now on what she considered "their" beach, but was relieved. It was someone she knew, Xeris. Her curious boy threw caution to the wind and began his approach at a calculated pace, trotting but not quite rushing to greet the white wolfess. "Do you know my father?" he asked curiously.