05-13-2009, 03:24 AM
The Locum had taken to searching the inner-territories of the pack land, exposing their mysteries bit by bit. She committed them to memory, tracing her steps and counting silently in her head. It was the best way for her to memorize the way. Being without a sense of scent, she had to utilize the other resources available. She had trained her mind to record memories in vivid technicolor, noticing minute details and thinking them significant. She paced slowly, absorbing every bit of knowledge, every image available to her wide lime green eyes. The cold of winter had eased entirely, and the wolfess was grateful for that. It robbed her of an excuse to hide away indoors.
She felt the heaviness of salt upon her face as she paced in her lupus form across semi-familiar terrain. Geneva found herself instantly pulled toward the feeling of moisture in the air. She had only discovered the coast a short time ago, within her first few weeks of joining Crimson Dreams. She had come a long way since then, both in life experience and in experiences of the heart. She held certain memories close to her as other faded into the background, but only for a moment until her attention returned to the here and now.
She found the seaside to be an alien world of unchartered change. The sea could thrash, crash against the sand and completely change the layout of the beach at a moment's notice. Normally, Geneva wasn't drawn to change, to chaos. She couldn't make sense of it, find rational reason within chaotic patterns. Still, there was something about the unplanned tumult of the waves, the serenity in their momentary stillness that drew her in instead of repulsing her.
Before long, her uneven footsteps lead her to the sight of a three-legged male that stopped her short. Jefferson had lingered in her mind in shadows for weeks as she had steered her path clear of his. She had been sure to give the Patriarch a wide berth after she had been attacked and beaten at the borders, for some reason ashamed to face him. She felt the ghost of shame bubbling in her throat, but swallowed it down resolutely as she took a moment to really look at the Patriarch. Although he was moving closer to the water, there was a stillness about him that was unnatural, a quiet quality to his solitude that hinted at something more, something dark.
She swallowed sense of shame, forgetting the insecurity brought by the pale bundle of scar tissue that marked her left shoulder and side. For now, that wasn't important. Something wasn't quite right with Jefferson, something had changed. Or perhaps she was reading him wrong all over again. It wouldn't be the first time. "Going for a swim?" she said lightly as she moved to stand close beside him, cold water pooling around her front paws as she waded into the ocean.
She felt the heaviness of salt upon her face as she paced in her lupus form across semi-familiar terrain. Geneva found herself instantly pulled toward the feeling of moisture in the air. She had only discovered the coast a short time ago, within her first few weeks of joining Crimson Dreams. She had come a long way since then, both in life experience and in experiences of the heart. She held certain memories close to her as other faded into the background, but only for a moment until her attention returned to the here and now.
She found the seaside to be an alien world of unchartered change. The sea could thrash, crash against the sand and completely change the layout of the beach at a moment's notice. Normally, Geneva wasn't drawn to change, to chaos. She couldn't make sense of it, find rational reason within chaotic patterns. Still, there was something about the unplanned tumult of the waves, the serenity in their momentary stillness that drew her in instead of repulsing her.
Before long, her uneven footsteps lead her to the sight of a three-legged male that stopped her short. Jefferson had lingered in her mind in shadows for weeks as she had steered her path clear of his. She had been sure to give the Patriarch a wide berth after she had been attacked and beaten at the borders, for some reason ashamed to face him. She felt the ghost of shame bubbling in her throat, but swallowed it down resolutely as she took a moment to really look at the Patriarch. Although he was moving closer to the water, there was a stillness about him that was unnatural, a quiet quality to his solitude that hinted at something more, something dark.
She swallowed sense of shame, forgetting the insecurity brought by the pale bundle of scar tissue that marked her left shoulder and side. For now, that wasn't important. Something wasn't quite right with Jefferson, something had changed. Or perhaps she was reading him wrong all over again. It wouldn't be the first time. "Going for a swim?" she said lightly as she moved to stand close beside him, cold water pooling around her front paws as she waded into the ocean.