Geneva’s eyes traced over the faces of her pack mates. Some of them remained in shadow, although perhaps not by choice. Hill of Graves was such a dark place. Shadows seemed to naturally thrive here, and sometime to rise into the air out of the corners of her eyes. But she was glad that she had chosen this place for a gathering. Although they dwelt within a naturally dark place, she felt that within the dark they could find each other. They were cocooned in the past, and it seemed appropriate to the Savant that they should move forward into the light after this day.
Her lime green eyes turned slightly to Jefferson before Rendall started to speak. She longed for his approval, but knew that he would likely withhold any comments. It was not his nature to show things so readily. His mind was like a fortress, fortified against everyone, including himself sometimes. She had seen glimpses of his feelings when they were alone together. As she stayed by his side, she could see both sides of him now. Though his expression was guarded, or perhaps just unreadable, she saw him in his capacity of the Patriarch – cold, disciplined, and responsible. But she could also visualize his quiet passion and a seemingly endless devotion and patience as her friend and lover. Jefferson was a complicated individual certainly – she had never met a more complex or frustrating creature. Generally patient, Geneva’s blood boiled with frustration over Jefferson; he seemed to be the only creature capable of pushing her buttons and unwinding her careful layers of control. But that was probably why she loved him so maddeningly. There was no one quite like him, and she hoped that they would continue to find their way back to each other. Their relationship was not perfect, but he had trusted her with La Saoire Na Mairbh. Perhaps she was reading too far into it, but she felt that perhaps this would be a way for them to move forward. As parents, she felt that they were a functional and trusting unit, but as mates, she still felt that they had some ways to go to restore what they had prior to the previous spring.
It was the Day of the Dead, and the denizens of Phoenix Valley seemed to be well acquainted with death. Geneva listened and her heart ached at some of the stories that were told. She could taste the pain and the truth of each statement and story on the back of her tongue. Her expression betrayed her sympathy for them, although it was not pity. They each had derived some sort of meaning from the experiences, and had coped in such a way that they had grown or learned something about themselves. That was the whole point; at least, that was the way that she wanted to view things.
When it came time for Pripyat to speak, she turned her eyes upon her blue eyed boy and watched him, warmth enveloping her heart. He seemed to be afraid, and looked at his parents as though he was waiting for a negative reaction. But she merely smiled at him gently as he broke the news that Phoenix Valley was sometimes confining. He needed to grow. Although she was concerned that he might have felt unsafe, the reality was that the world could be a terribly dangerous place. She could not shield her son forever, and it was better for him to learn things while she was still able to give him some advice and protection. There would come a day when she would not be around, and so it was better for him to experience new things while he still had the safety net of his parents.
Jefferson’s speech seemed the least reflective and the most future reaching. His words had a fatalistic quality, but she knew them to ring true. She spoke of his life before, the one that existed without memory to give him confidence in his time as a youth. It was rare that he would speak of such a thing, not because he was generally secretive, but because he was not one to speak unnecessarily either. She wondered how he wanted to move forward. Despite the fact that he often bemoaned the fools and dreamers in his pack, she knew him to be fiercely loyal. But he was getting older, they both were. And it was obvious to her that he was pondering his own mortality. He spoke of Iskata too, and she knew that he missed the ex-Matriarch. She had never met Iskata, but she knew the place that the older wolfess had once held in Jefferson’s life. She had been a source of guidance for him, and a friend to him. Iskata Sadira had been a significant figure in Jefferson’s life, because he rarely opened up enough to allow another passage into his heart. Iskata must have been one remarkable lady, and Geneva regretted never meeting her, although she was glad that Iskata had been in Jefferson’s life when he had needed her.
The lime eyed Savant waited in the extended period of silence that followed Jefferson’s remarks, before finally speaking again herself. There was warmth in her voice as she regarded those gathered at the Hill of Graves. ”Thank you for sharing. I know that sometimes it can be hard, but it is important to acknowledge the darker things in our lives, so that we move forward.” She took a breath before continuing once more, her eyes sweeping the semi-circle of creatures who called Phoenix Valley home. ”What do you hope for? Death is about renewal, and I believe that we all make our own paths. Where do you want to be before next year?”
WC 962