I cannot help but grin in amusement as I see him contemplate this news; surely he is curious, too, about their lineage. After all, it is one thing that I do not know in regards to them. I know their scents, their names, their weaknesses and yet, I do not know who mother saw fit to pair with. It does not matter, truly, for even we were unsure of our lineage - or at least, it took quite some time for it to be confirmed. Still, whoever he was, he must not have been a strong male, or anybody worth noting: they were each born weak, though perhaps Keturah and her sister, Esdeath, had some merit to them.

My brow rises then when he mentions Heyel, assured that they could not be our siblings based solely on his death. Anselm always was clever in that regard. Though, it was hard not to be. Any wolf could see Heyel within him, subtract the greying fur and glazed eyes. Of course, we were always simply told that it was simply... coincidence in some way. It might have been believable. After all, many wolves who share his blood even distantly seem to glow with a certain similarity; a certain arch to their brow ridge or a certain shape of their eye. Yet, he was always so very interested in our mother. Oddly so, really, when considering his mate ought to have wanted just as much attention - or his legitimate children and grandchildren, whose rulership was surely more interesting than our first steps or first kill. Yet, he was always there.

"Correct and yet, I witnessed them into this world. They are, at the least, half of us." I cannot help but sound so very amused at it all as I stretch my legs, shifting my toes in the softer earth beneath me. "They nearly killed our mother, and Ayal nearly killed them. I thought it would be more entertaining to keep them around, however."

I wonder if Anselm will target them as Ayal had, though I suppose Ayal was merely opportunistic in her efforts to dispatch of the weaker links. Nonetheless, I would not be entirely opposed to my brother taking it upon himself to cleanse us all of that particular weakness; a child that could not see and a child that could barely run. I have appearances to maintain and yet, Anselm does not. He is family. He has access to Glorall and no other would question his scent. It makes me watch him with such curiosity.

His next question, however, truly brings a quiet laughter to my lips. I breathe out heftily, feigning some kind of thought and yet, truly, I must refrain from imagining it all over again; the look on his face, the desperation in his eyes, his words. That sickly sweet sound of pride in his voice. It makes my lips curl up into a grin as I briefly look away, wiping it clean when I return my eyes to Anselm. "No, she has not. I would be inclined to believe he is still out there, alive," I muse, toying with the words and allowing a brief silence. This is a game for me, I suppose. It is enough to entertain me this day, so much more so than simply basking in the sun. "Of course, mother's mouth is not the only one that could confirm it."

I shift my weight to be more comfortable once more, grinning at Anselm now as I lean towards him, sharing our words (despite our native tongue) with only him and never the wind. "Our father told me himself," I say simply, tasting those sweet words on my tongue as I pull back, repeating Heyel's last ever words with such tenderness, "The son who watched his father die and did nothing to stop it." Is this interesting enough for my brother, I wonder?