bottle of red, bottle of white

[Jefferson Soul]

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Perhaps Jefferson should have expected no different — it had been years since Maluki ravaged through Aube de Musique that first time and attacked Aurélie, years since Thomas was killed, years since Maluki's children had left the pack that graciously raised them as orphans. Where were they now? Perhaps they had been the ones the pack had been searching for; without parents, who else were to worry about them? Jefferson himself had tried, but they had denied him; Gaël had made peace but disappeared once more, Heath had refused him and pushed him away, and Miriette had simply disappeared to her own devices. He was their father in name only; he would never serve as anything more. Had Razekiel met them? Did the coyote know where they were, or how they were doing? Were they alive? Healthy?

He could not stand to think of such things much longer. A gruff shake of the head and such troubles were dismissed from his mind, purged yet dawdling in the back of his consciousness as they always did, weighing his guilt further as was the norm.

"Razekiel," the Valley Patriarch said finally, turning his one-eyed gaze to the quivering, sheltered chickadee at first and to the coyote next. How nice — even Mother Nature hated him. Perhaps that was how it should be. "Why are you really bringing this idea up with me?"