im[p]ervious

Aurèle Aston · 04-23-2010, 08:25 AM

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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?”

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