We meet at last

Jefferson Soul · 03-11-2011, 06:52 PM

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A sneeze that echoed even to the back of the church roused him from his hiding spot, stepping out into the open. The church was a desolate place, long out of use by the humans and since never used, to his knowledge, by any of the members of Phoenix Valley. It was once a place of faith and prayers, of false hope and subordination; perhaps it should have symbolized that to he and the Valley, in that the leaders had chose to duck into it in a time of disaster and destruction of the pack, but Jefferson offered no prayers. They lived in a place of hope and faith ironically; their wishes for peace over the pack once again had nothing to do with an upper entity. This was the Valley's problem. It was Jefferson's problem.

He had explored the further depths of the church more out of curiosity than anything else; religious robes and the like hung somewhere in the back, some coated in mold while others dissolved or eaten away, and what appeared to be religious artifacts like chalices and dishes lined the cupboards, surrounded by mouse droppings and dead bugs. He didn't understand a thing of it. The sound of an intruder had been a welcome interruption, then, pulling him away from what was slowly beginning to frustrate him, and the creaky close of one of the doors to the sanctuary and he stepped down and past the altar quietly, one arm swinging at his side, one sleeve flapping emptily behind him.

"It's dusty in here," he said, his voice hardly booming yet its naturally gravelly tone resonating on the church walls without effort. "How are you holding up after the storm?"

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