He had been possessed by a crippling silence, a thick haze of dizzying thoughts that whirred about in his head like a machine. No crackling of the fire in the ranch's heart could ease it away, nor could any amount of illegible text he distracted himself trying to read. Geneva would teach him the ways of text one day, as he was quite certain he had once known how the letters and sounds flowed on the pages, and on that day when he would be able to read again, perhaps his efforts of distraction would suffice. Today, they did not.
Pripyat was growing. He'd already aged into the adult ranks, and though the Patriarch had not admitted to it openly, the brute had placed his son directly beneath his adopted daughter in the ranks as an apprentice. Jefferson had not failed terribly in raising Addison, as it had been his first time as a parent raising a child that wasn't even his, but such instincts had surely kicked in stronger for Pripyat's upbringing. Addison would teach him well, but the cyclops worried still. His boy was growing up. Would he leave on a journey like Addison did?
And what of Phoenix Valley? While the other packs were overflowing with members, the Valley still maintained its small, cozy number. While he preferred such a small group, extra members would have been useful for hunting in the winter. On top of that, more and more packs were forming; he had seen the start of so many since his start as Patriarch, but not the fall of even one—save the original Dahlia de Mai beneath his half-brother, if it mattered. He was not old, but he was getting old. His days were not numbered for his age, but for his past. Surely, any day now, one of Aurélie's other children would appear from the darkness and leap out at his throat. Perhaps on that day, he would let them.
For now, Jefferson took time away. He knew the ways of the ocean at winter, but ignored the ache of his aging bones beneath the cold weather and climbed his way to a small overhang outreaching over the ocean. On three legs he sat down, pulled in his neck somewhat, and simply gazed his single eye out into infinity. The wind, bitter with chill and salt, whipped at his nose and eyes harshly, and the man was overtaken by frigid tremors. In all the cold and wind, his mind numbed.
Peace.
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