or buried beneath the stones
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Needless to say, Jefferson hadn't prepared himself to see hide nor tail of any other living creature in the boneyard, sans a scavenging and misled squirrel or two hastening to finish their savings before the first snowfall. Jefferson had the wonderful tendency to focus very deeply on this and in doing so, losing all notice of the outside world around him. Thus, when he was alarmed by a voice, the cyclops nearly jumped several feet in the air and, in turning to look at its source, immediately thought he was seeing a ghost.


That aside, however, he calmed fast and exhaled deeply. "My God, Pendzez," the cyclops breathed, a hand to his chest to steady himself, "I thought you were a goddamn ghost for a second there." The cyclops had heard plenty about Pendzez in recent months; in fact, the white-furred male had made himself prominent amongst the pack members, who seemed to think of him very highly. Jefferson himself had little conversation with the Nuncio -- as far as he knew, Pendzez hadn't gone looking for him and was able to handle himself well, thus the Patriarch did not worry for his safety. "You know someone here, or you just like the feel of graveyards?" Meeting in a cemetery was a little beyond eerie, to say the least.


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