He was alone again. Always alone. At first it hadn't bothered him - silence always had been a blessing for his weary ears and fast-moving mind. And yet as the days grew warm and fierce, Jude had begun to feel more than alone - he'd begun to feel lonely. While warmth danced through his soft blonde hair and permeated his copper skin, he had waited, and wandered, and waited again all for the chance to find change, difference, an end to the monotonous routine he had found himself in. Detached, he had studied and stared at the stars, nothing but an abyssal and endless night sky staring back at him until one day - today, he had made a decision. He would return to the Throat.

He was at once enchanted and repelled by the life that busied itself around him, and he felt archaic and ancient, as if he had been living here for an eternity. Stardusted lashes lowered as he waited at the the Throat's Threshold for someone to let him in, standing stoic and eternal, a statue more than a boy. The setting sun gilded his youthful frame,  evidence of his absent father present in his misanthropic standing. He did not blame the man that had sired him for leaving, though Jude knew he could never be carefree or social like his twin, Byron. Already, he felt older than time, his very bones aching underneath the weight of the knowledge that he yearned to learn, his multicoloured eyes swelling with the galaxies he perused each night.

At first there was the beating of wings, and then following: a friendly, youthful voice. Jude turned his doleful face toward the boy, similar in age to himself, and offered a mute smile that just barely glinted within his multicoloured eyes. He appreciated the company, though didn't mention as such as he regarded the boy beside him, one emerald eye lingering on his growing wings. He wasn't a resentful child despite feeling strongly that if he had been born with wings, his life would have been... well, seemingly a lot more valuable. There was no blame to be placed on an absent father - rather his dam had done her best to cherish the flightless children she had birthed, whilst secretly harbouring a shame that her offspring were destined to remain earthbound. Physically, at least. Jude loosed a low breath and spoke; "It has it's moments." In truth he did find the Throat beautiful - it was a vision of heat and glory, cast in golden majesty by the setting sun... it simply was not the beauty that lingered in the recesses of his crooked, tentative heart. It was emerald and earth that set his pulse racing, the extensive mountain ranges that formed apparently out of nowhere, and for millions of years growing and changing. They were the home for stunning arrays of archaic trees, blooming ferns and flowers and life.

Jude took little notice as the behemoth figure of Volterra approached them, contributing a glance toward the new Sultan before turning back to the entrance of his mothers home. "For now.." he murmured, casting another look at the large, handsome man before providing an earnest smile. Despite his distance from the Throat, Jude had found he liked the new Sultan - from afar, of course. Volterra showed that you didn't need wings to run a herd full of winged warriors. He turned again to Saoirse, completely unconscious of manners but pleased with his red haired companion "I'm Jude, son of Nephele."