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For Tammi, when she has the time.
Meeting with her nephew had reinforced a need to seek out her sister. While Aurèle could make herself disappear, it was not quite the same with her flighty sister. Tayui had a knack for quite the opposite, as far as the green eyed woman could recall. After leaving home, however, both she and her sister had changed. A fire such as the one which had destroyed Lac Sakami, could certainly change a person. Regardless, it shouldn’t have mattered what had happened as long as it was done with. Like the murders last summer, Aurèle had all but pushed the thought into the darkest places of her mind.
Certainly, of these places there were many, and they were deep. One might never know this given her demeanor, which was uncharacteristically chipper. There was a spring in her step, an ease in knowing that she had gained immortality. Anatole had survived, and he would thrive here. The boy was out, doing who knew what, but having brought him up right the Aston woman did not fear for her son. She had, early on, after the storm had taken the other child. Those fears had been replaced by pride in seeing what she had produced. She, not the nameless man who had been her tool. Even he was fading, though the scars on her neck never would—she could not erase the man from her mind because she saw it in the crow.
These thoughts were not the ones which she considered today. In fact, she was not thinking of much at all—except perhaps to brag about how her son had grown so well, without any aid. As her sister’s den drew nearer, Aurèle found that her other nephew’s scent still clung to the area. Of course it would. Tayui was too soft to raise a boy like Atilla unless it was a fluke, which she certainly believed it was. A smirk set on her face, her head high, the pale woman called out. “You home?”
