07-07-2009, 06:25 PM
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| http://digital-bonsai.com/katew/temp/gabetop.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:216px; padding-left:9px; padding-right:9px; padding-bottom:9px;"> ___ They're dorks. Around one another, the two could very much revert to younger years. They fought and sparred like boys and even occasionally managed to play with one another. Not that the war had given them much time for that, but it had bound the two by blood and fire. Anselm was the brother Gabriel had not been able to have—had Molochai remained, they could have shared something similar. Of course, his mother’s favorite son had also been Corona’s shadow. All of the children had chosen another; Gabriel’s just happened to have been slaughtered. The mention of sleep made the sable-gold male grin broadly, but found himself unable to respond as the former Praetorian began to explain himself. Though the grin lessened to a smile, Gabriel found little fault in his golden cousin. “It’s not,” he said without hesitation. “I sent my children off with their godmother and her brother. If anyone should get the credit, it’s the two of them.” If Fatin and Tristan ever returned, they would be welcomed regardless of their wolfish heritage. “Ryan’s been great. She ended up taking over where you left off.” He paused. Something else struck him suddenly. “Though I’m sure you’ll be useful keeping an eye on her kid,” the Aquila said, watching for one of two responses. |