Yes'm. :3
What was he dreaming of? Ah, it was so lovely, in such a warm, pleasant place; perhaps he had been shrouded in clouds of pink and purple, cradling his every muscle and bone in its cushioning embrace. There had been a girl there, her face framed with the softest of gold, and for a time he knew who she was. She drew close, succumbing to his open arms, her breath on his neck, and-- and--
The fishing pole flicked out of his fingers in surprise, the boy blinking his icy eyes awake. He glanced this way and that--where was he? Where was that woman, that beautiful girl? The sunlight blazed into his eyes and he quickly pushed it away with a hand raised to his brow. The sound of his mother's voice slowly filtered through his sleepy ears, and soon enough her son was gaping at her eye-to-eye, as puzzled and forlorn as ever. With a long exhalation, the Aston boy relaxed his back and leaned against the tree one more, rubbing at his temples. "Aww, I hate that name, mom," he groaned, then straightened himself up and retrieved the fishing pole from the grass. Had it been flung much further, it might have been unintentionally surrendered to the river below.
She scolded him, and though her tone lacked the maternal disappointment he'd learned to recognize easily, the boy's snowed ears flipped back against his skull quickly and he turned his eyes elsewhere. It was no different than when he teased or pushed Claudius around--he was always scolded for it, and Attila could only pout like a child at it. He wanted to say he'd never really left like had initially planned, but somehow the boy could not bring himself to do it. Not after that scolding, anyway. "I... I wasn't gone that long," he tried, fiddling with his fingers. "I was gonna stop by today, I swear. Markku's been bugging me and everything, and I mean, I've only been back a couple days, and..." he trailed off. The owl wasn't going to help him now. Whether or not his mother was actually upset, Attila didn't really have any good explanations for himself.
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