Kurt walked down the bank of the river, slowly wading into the cool currents just south of where Jean told him Joy was. He'd regaining his physical strength in the months since his wife had fled from the rooftop, but his heart had grown older, and the change reflected in his eyes and fur. Gray stained his hair and fur, and his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world's grief.

He knelt and took out his cross and beads, starting to pray for his wife, his cause, and his people. He finished the prayer with a special mention for the young girl he was getting ready to send away to college. Then he sighed. He knew if he went to Joy, tried to take her and hold her, she'd run away. He could only send a silent, desperate prayer that she would come to him, let him talk to her. He missed her and worried for her with every fiber of his being, the fur beneath his cheeks almost had a permenant change in direction from the nights he'd spent weeping over his inability to find her and keep her close and safe.