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drinking wine made for disaster
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Jefferson spoke out of sympathy, but he should have known better. It was not exactly thanked or welcomed; there was a confirmation of sorts that he and his pack had been uninvolved and was thus faultless, but that was hardly a response. The cyclops twitched his ears, unimpressed with the lack of emotion in the Aquila's response, but it was no use. He himself would probably have been no different: numb, but perhaps Gabriel was always like that.
His next words were somewhat more positive, however, until the mentioning of Iskata. Jefferson was aware she and Gabriel had never been on good terms, thus her name on his tongue was more than a surprise. Jefferson had led the pack in her stead for well over a year now, and he'd been surprised if any of the neighboring packs were not yet aware of the changes. He'd gotten himself involved with most of the packs at one point or another -- the only pack Phoenix Valley still sparsely knew was Cour des Miracles, and that was only because the cyclops' son lingered there and had made it clear he wasn't welcome.
Jefferson cleared his throat and sighed. "They're a quiet bunch. They don't want to hurt anybody, so they keep to themselves." He hated to admit it, but, "With Iskata and DaVinci both gone, we haven't had anyone to drag us into trouble. I prefer it that way."
What he didn't understand was how Gabriel knew Iskata was dead, when not even the cyclops himself did. Perhaps the Aquila had assumed, as had Jefferson, that someone like Iskata could not simply disappear from a place she was so dedicated to. Death was the only other option, and thus far the cream-colored wolfess had not proved them wrong.
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