Well, Jefferson does like complaining...
He stepped along the borders two-legged, wrapped in a coat that hardly kept his bones from aching. One sleeve flapped freely in the wind, its occupant stretched across his chest in its sling like usual, sheltered from the bite of the cold by the coat. The brute wore the most bitter of expressions as went along, abhorring each step as he made them; the cold was simply too much for him, though winter had yet to set in. Jefferson grumbled as he moved, inwardly wishing the borders would remain faceless and dull only because he hated to be held up at such at time.
That, of course, wouldn't be the case. Jefferson spotted a stranger atop a horse far in the distance. They moved in opposite directions, destined to meet at a point, and thus they did. The cyclops thinned his eye, finding little to analyze of the stranger upon first glance, and yet found the male vaguely reminded him of Gabriel, though he could not pinpoint why. "These are Phoenix Valley borders," Jefferson called as he approached, pulling his coat closer up to his face. "You need something here? I'm the leader."
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