strung-out old stars

Jefferson Soul · 03-29-2011, 05:00 PM

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One or two PV members, please! Preferably someone Jefferson has not seen lately (has not had a thread with me recently). ^^

Perhaps he should have considered his forced leadership in AniWaya some sort of vacation from Phoenix Valley. After all, he had led the loonies there for at least two years after being handed the pack and promptly deserted with it in his control. Would he have been able to return to his life as a loner, now that he had developed some of the relationships he had? The brute told himself time after time that nothing had changed, that he was still the loner at heart he had began as, but that things had interrupted his one-man sojourning. He was not the representative of Phoenix Valley; he was not its whimsicalities, its strife-free life, its peace-loving nature or its freedom and beauty. He was none of those things — and yet they were the things the scarred, troubled, horrible man strove to protect.

He would return to the dust someday. Would he do so like Skoll, worth a proper funeral even years later, celebrated by Jantus and all that loved him? Or would he simply be forgotten?

No... there was nothing worth celebrating in Jefferson Soul. Nothing but a rapist's death and the white of his bones.

AniWaya was much less troubled and busy than Phoenix Valley, a rare circumstance for the brute to come by. Typically both were reclined and quiet in their entireties; for now, his trips back and forth between the two packs were on an every-other-day basis, as the Valley needed him now more than ever. AniWaya still had Dawali, in an emergency, even if he could not move about too much, and both the Kalona and AniWayans knew Jefferson would return as soon as he was able. When he returned to the Valley, the man took care of usual business with Tala, caught up with a few of the Divan members, and then was left to his own once more. He could have returned to AniWaya promptly, but with the setting sun, the male decided it was perhaps better to stay the night with the sick girl he loved.

A quiet stroll around the territory had brought him the vision of the snowstorm's destruction, even almost two months later. A number of cabins remained split and splintered every which way; the barn was still, well, smashed in on itself. He paused at the old Saunder's Mill, not far from the ranch and the villa where he would be staying; the poor old mill had never really served much purpose other than looking nice, and with most of the building now on the bank and in the river, it didn't quite serve a beautiful purpose anymore either. The sky lighting brilliant golds and reds over him, the man stood in the setting sunlight, the cold dusk winds blowing at his fur, and sighed. At least with the light of the sunset, the mill looked reclined and peaceful, the babbling brook breezing through nonchalantly. Even in its demise, the mill was still tranquil.

They would have to rebuild somehow.

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