[aw] i can feel the color running

Anatole Aston · 07-05-2012, 02:18 PM

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(417) This was the perfect thread to get him back in action. :3

As a child, Anatole had been exposed to only one other person—his mother. He recalled, vaguely, others in the idea of warmth and smell and sounds, but his mind had closed these things in a form of self defense. Once he had a brother, but now he did not. His mother had never spoken of the other boy after his death in the river and Anatole, in a childish form of self-defense, had erased him from memory. This allowed him to press on, and he had done so under the heavy handed teachings of his mother. She had helped to shape him in those early days, and had he been wiser, he would have seen that her intentions had been to harden him and make him capable as a lone wolf. When they had gone north, she had, in her subtle way, pushed him to brave the winter with the other young men that he had begun the journey with.

What had returned, and only because of her injury, was a man carved of snow and ice and the northern wilds. Coming to AniWaya, even on the premise of leaving, had forced him to change. It was a slow thing, and the core of his being was still wrapped up in thick layers of ice. Still, he was trying now, actively, to adapt. Donoma’s words and talons were aiding in this.

His eyes, a shade of electric green he had never seen but for his mother, barely recognized that she was puzzled by his words. “My name is Anatole,” he replied, and looked back to the package. “Excuse me a moment.” Then he slipped into a thick cover of brush, doing his best to ignore the eagle’s voice, her tone softer than the one she used with him. Anatole frowned from behind the tree—he never missed the fact that she treated strangers with more kindness than she did to him. “Don’t mind the boy,” the eagle said, fixing her gaze on the halfbreed. “He’s not as terrible as he acts.”

Moments later, he returned on two legs. He was a full foot taller than her, and much heavier. Black hair fell around his face, something he had inherited from his father. His half-Korean blood was all but unknown to him, though. Anatole bent, lifted the bag, and hoisted it over one shoulder. “Follow me,” he instructed, and at a sharp gaze from the eagle, added: “Please.” With that he turned back towards the southern woods.

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