As a note, mommy will be joining this thread later on.

Of all the places that his mother could have taken him, it had to be here. It had to be a pack full of weird people that all looked funny and practiced bizarre ceremonies and talked to animals. Animals not unlike the crow that followed his mother around, but that bird didn’t talk. That he understood, because crows usually hung around wolves, and it made sense. But a cougar? That was ridiculous. On top of this, he had realized that everyone here was either old like his mom or really young or related to him. He didn’t want to hang out with his stupid cousins, especially after his mom had attempted to explain them to him.

Every single time Anatole complained, his mother told him to suck it up. He did, however disgruntled, and was left to sulk alone. This was what he was doing now, trotting through the pack territory quickly. Even though he did not believe he belonged to AniWaya, he was ignorant to the terms of actual ownership. Everything to Anatole was free game. It was simply a matter of who the stronger patron was. His mother had fended off many strange wolves, and staked out a territory for the two of them over the mountain. Here would be no different; certainly, Anatole and his mother had reclaimed her den and the area around it as their own.

A peculiar scent, one that was vaguely familiar, drew his attention. Not far from him was a white wolf, one that looked to be about his age. Without a moment’s hesitation, the dark coated boy approached his cousin, head and tail high. “Hey,” he called out, his voice as equally foreign as his mother’s.

No, he doesn't know Anatole. When Aurèle comes in he will probably remember her, as she made him armwarmers back when he was a puppy.

They were blood, but they were strangers. Anatole was not perturbed by the staring, as he himself returned the icy gaze with his own neon green. Like his mother, the dark boy was uncharacteristically poised. It was as if a velvet blanket had been draped over him, a certainty that was not entirely arrogant, and a lack of fear that came with being taught the way he had been. His smile was easy and confident, as if he was speaking to someone he had known his entire life. Anatole did not fear the unknown; he did not fear much of anything.

“Bored,” he said plainly. “There doesn’t seem to be much to do here.” A shrug, dismissing the tribeland. Anatole was used to exploring daily and making his own time useful. He had yet to finish exploring AniWaya, but had found the forest rather boring. The central part of the pack, where the majority of the tribe lived, was as of yet unknown. Though not afraid of the strange people, Anatole found them annoyingly weird and did not want to be confronted by that. “I’m Anatole.” No surname, no hesitation. Anonymity had been useful as a loner, and this habit had as of yet not been broken by the younger boy.

It wasn’t as if the tribe had managed to make an impression on him yet; Anatole had met the group once, and found them to be a peculiar lot. All dressed up and dancing like that, it was stupid. Yes, stupid and pointless. His mother had participated out of duty, whereas her son didn’t want to be the odd man out. Heaven forbid one of those crazy wolves try and get him to dance. No sir, there would be none of that. He was too proud to look foolish in front of a group of people like that. Anatole wanted to be respected, not made to look like a fool.

Anatole found that this other boy, Atilla, was neither intimidated nor unafraid. Good. If he had been, there would have been no point in them having this conversation. The older boy looked up, echoed about being bored, and the dark youth smiled flatly. Of course he was. “Got back, eh? Where’d you go?” If the boy had been born here (given by his ‘back’ statement), then maybe he hadn’t really seen much of the world. Certainly, Anatole hadn’t either, but he considered living over the mountains a greater distance then this peninsula that they were on.

There was an obvious and apparent shift; a smile that told Anatole more then he needed to know. Like his mother and father before him, the Aston boy observed those around him and judged. Arrogance was as clear to him as it was familiar; he too belonged to ego and id, and followed a path of self-righteousness that placed him in a different world then his companions. Maybe, in part, his mother was to blame. Maybe too, his father—who had given him nothing but his blood and his dark coat. There was no part of Corvus truly in his son, for Anatole had never known the man and never would. Still, he resembled the man. A shadow of what had been.

Anatole would never accept that. The older boy tossed his head and began to walk, and more out of curiosity then anything else, Anatole’s feet followed step. They walked differently; Atilla ripped the ground under him, as if it was his right. His cousin had learned to walk evenly, as a hunter should. Both boys had come from strong bloodlines, and this showed in their still growing bodies. Perhaps there would be a challenge here, in a relative that had not given up that information, something to keep him busy.

Regardless, Atilla’s voice had taken on a tone that made Anatole’s face crinkle, and he rolled his bright eyes at the last statement. Though he himself had only laid with a woman once (an experience made more unpleasant because of her constant chatter) it was apparent from a rise in the white wolf’s musky scent that he was speaking of liaisons. The younger man could not hide the amusement from his voice. “You have a chum de fille down there?”

Falseness, as a whole, was a concept that Anatole had never really been far from. His mother on more then one occasion had shown him how deceit kept things in order. While it was perhaps not morally right, he did not think of it as bad. His companion and cousin, whom seemed immature enough to still be a boy, misunderstood the question. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought. Then, as Atilla turned to him, a distinct shift occurred in the darker boy’s face. It was not directed at him, but to the question—before he could open his mouth to answer, a nearby noise caught his attention. Oh great. Waltzing out of the tree line was his mother.

Aurèle had hardly been looking for her son, having belief that he certainly could take care of himself. At least inside the pack lands. Though she was by no means motherly, she had invested herself in her son and sought to see him make her immortal. Above all else, she desired this. Her sister had achieved such a thing, but from what she could recall of her sister’s children, they were far from what Aurèle would desire as offspring.

The boy’s voices had drawn her to them, the ever-present crow (whom, as peculiar as it seemed, was losing his white breast) flying low enough that she could hear it. When she had found them, it was in time to hear the older boy—Atilla, she recognized—asking her son about his whereabouts. Without hesitation, she was moving towards them. “You don’t suppose family is a good enough reason, Atilla?” She interrupted, green eyes twinkling ruthlessly. A pointed look was passed from the boy to his paler cousin, as if to explain.

Aurèle recalled her nephew much in the way he did her—the boy had been mouthy as a child, but not as annoying as his sister. She could not remember much of Tayui’s other children, but Atilla had made enough of an impression on her to be recalled. He was bold, and had been unafraid to speak to her despite her size and demeanor. Seeing not much had changed, a satisfied smile remained on her face. “Oh thank you,” she said, though the compliment rolled off of her like water on a duck’s back. She looked over to Anatole, standing behind Atilla, and barely let her expression change as he mouthed something to her.

Advancing, she did not touch either of the boys and instead looked over the older one. She sought to understand him as a being, and not outside of this. He had gotten weight from his genetics, and (thankfully) not taken after his mother from what she could tell. “You look well,” she said, sealing her approval on his appearance. It was something she had done for all strangers, all prey animals; above all else, she was a hunter. “Causing any trouble?” She asked, the corners of her mouth pulling up in a smirk. That she could recall about him, certainly.