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.
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