So Pendzez had spoken about him? The cyclops was unsure why he was surprised; only he and Pendzez were left in Phoenix Valley that remembered the pack at a time before the scarred man took rule. Pendzez remembered Iskata and Deuce, for sure, just as well as Jefferson himself did. It was not quite six months before the cyclops had been made Phoenix Valley's Patriarch and from there he had served since; despite that extended period of time, he and the white wolf had never really gotten to know each other. They traveled separate paths, he knew, and those paths would cross when it was necessary for them to.
The brute hesitated asking what Pendzez had told his sister of Phoenix Valley's rude and monstrous Patriarch, but he kept silent. If there was anything he hated to speak about, it was himself—even to complete strangers. "A flower?" Surely it was a strange and unnecessary journey to the Valley land in search of a simple blossom. Undoubtedly Phoenix Valley was home to plenty, though the Patriarch was utterly unsure as to how one-of-a-kind they were. "Well, there's plenty in the packlands. You'll probably have more luck there." He motioned subtly with a flick of his nose, then turned and started back towards the land he called home.
Clearing his throat, the cyclops held his eye steadily forward. "What's this flower for?"
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