head trauma

Jefferson Soul · 12-02-2010, 03:49 PM

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Alaine.

Set in the cemetery in Halifax, since it's between their two packs.

For some time he had drifted about in a mist, lost beneath a haze of ghosts and memories that seized his whole being. Too many past faces had suddenly resurfaced all at once; several older members of the Valley returned home as quickly as they vanished and eased themselves back in as if a day had not passed. Jefferson was ultimately grateful—they had been longtime members that, though he never showed it, became dear to him. To see them return was a great sigh of relief on his behalf, both in that they were safe and in that they would aid him once more in handling the proud Valley.

But he was distant, clouded. A few days had been spent happily catching up with them, and a few days had been spent alone in the ranch, the creak of the rocking chair inaudible to his busy mind. Too many faces he worried for that were still long gone, and as Jefferson was not the worrisome type, the cyclops was somewhat beside himself with frustration over his own emotions. Such frustration brought him to wandering, and wander he did.

Jefferson had spent little time in Halifax despite its immediacy to Phoenix Valley, but under a slight drizzle due to the mild winter he moved within the territory and meandered about. It was during those lost wanderings he had come across both Phoenix Valley—where he'd collapsed, lived, strengthened and took under his wing—Cercelee, Haku, even Laruku. The latter two were surely gone by now, else he would have heard of his half-brother's tyranny or stumbled across his adopted brother a third time, but Cercelee was nowhere to be found. Iskata was gone. DaVinci was gone.

Even Ryan, he recalled quietly as the brute drifted into a cemetery. During the winter, the headstones stood more solemnly than in the rest of the seasons; he and Ryan had met in a cemetery once, shortly after Jefferson had chosen to stay in Phoenix Valley until his wounds healed and the bones jutting out of his skin vanished. Now like so many else, she was simply another ghost in the back of his mind, one that most likely would never reappear before him again. She and DaVinci were happy, wherever they were. He knew that much.

But even as he stood among the ghosts of the boneyard, he knew nothing but mist and distance in his mind.

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