Tammi! Set at his den.
Perhaps Markku had been right, after all. Attila had never had a problem with his mother; he didn't have any reasons to deny her a visit, especially after it had been so long since they'd last met. Their last decent conversation had been in, what, November? He shuddered at the thought--had he even seen her for his birthday? Pausing a moment as the clouds parted enough to spare a few minutes' worth of warming sunlight, Attila considered his recent activity in AniWaya. He hadn't seen Dawali since he'd reappeared again, and now that he thought about it, they probably could have ducked into his den alongside the river and seen it hadn't been disturbed in months. A majority of the winter he spent elsewhere, although Attila could not exactly track where he'd been and when--it was all a blur, really, mingled with memories of alcohol and a few beautiful faces that flashed before his eyes for mere seconds before he forgot them all over again. For all he knew, he could have been kicked out of AniWaya, and yet there he was again, striding with neck extended and head held high, as if he not only never left at all, but owned the place as well. He was Attila Aston, after all, and if nothing else than he was more important than his useless siblings and surely someone to be prized in a dull, uneventful dump like this one.
The sun disappeared again behind fast-moving clouds, and seconds later it lightened the grass and vanished once more. He couldn't tell if the sky was begging to rain or shine, but the Aston boy didn't much care for nature and weather. Instead, he shifted to his two-legged form and dug out the fishing pole he'd tucked away somewhere in the depths of his den upon returning. It was really a very fortunate thing for Attila to have crafted; he could nap with it in his fingers and thus still look like he'd been doing something useful for once. Climbing the small hill that doubled as his den's roof, the white boy settled himself beneath the tree, situated the pole, and tossed its line into the water down below. The sweetness of the wind touched at his face, danced at the curls before his eyes--and before long, Attila Aston was fast asleep.
.attilaplain b {color:#4b3929; letter-spacing:1px;}
.attilaplain m {color:#c2a78f; letter-spacing:1px;}
.attilaplainooc {font-style:italic; color:#4b3929; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;}
.attilaplain p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;}
.attilaplain {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#E6DBD1; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #6c523b; padding: 5px 0px 5px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#a37c59; line-height:13px; letter-spacing:.8px; text-align:justify;}
</style>
[/html]