He'd been doing a lot of meandering lately; perhaps it was that restlessness he always felt in the dead of winter, when hunting and general travel were made more difficult by the snow and sleet and cold. He never enjoyed being cooped up, as he was something of an outdoorsy type and enjoyed random walks and strolls through nature (especially to calm himself down). However, the yearning to move around and the restless feeling within seemed to be aroused by other feelings, such as the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach whose origins he could not trace nor could he disperse. Needless to say, it was starting to drive him a little bonkers, but Jefferson has always been kind of bonkers in the first place.
There were no sounds, nothing out of the ordinary on his little stroll that day, other than spinning thoughts and a busy mind trying to think why he was so subconsciously worried about something. The Patriarch could have shifted, could have roamed around on two legs comfortably, but instead he made his own life more difficult and limped around three-legged in the snow. Of course, he froze midstep when a stranger at their borders appeared in his line of sight, probably staring back at him just as quizzically. He glanced around--no one else around, no reason for her to be there--before shrugging his shoulders and limping his way near. "Phoenix Valley," he said quietly, in case she was another Stockholm wandering around whimsically. "Do you... need something?"