im[p]ervious

Aurèle Aston · 04-24-2010, 08:52 AM

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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.

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