There was no denying that Tetradore had been altogether hesitant about that trip abroad. It was the first time he was out of the country, the first time he was away from that oppressive servitude that hung over him so stiflingly, and his first time away from any sort of responsibility. He had anticipated some level of worry over all that he had left behind. It was surely childish of him, that fear that Risque would discover his absence and punish his pack accordingly. And yet, with that wind racing through his hair and the power of that motorbike beneath him, his thoughts were blissfully free of the metropolis he had left behind. Rather, his attention remained fully focused upon that vast estate that surrounded him. That very home he had dreamed of for so long was far grander than anything his childish mind could have imagined it to be. It was a tranquil sort of sanctuary in a sea of discord, regardless of that meticulously busy schedule required to keep that aristocratic farm functioning so flawlessly. Even though he had been astonished to realize his faux father's true job, it was kind of...fitting in a peculiar sort of way, he supposed. He had hardly expected his own naivety and astonishment of the truth might prompt even more of that rarely spoken of past from the near ancient fae's lips.

He had, after all, never truly considered what Matteo's life before him might have consisted of. He knew of the Frenchman's son, and his love affair with the once Italian Queen and even a fair share of those battles with the Great Alexander (though he had half believed them to be little more than stories to placate him). This was far more of that raw and simple truth than he was certain he had ever received before. Truthfully, he could hardly fathom Matteo as a mere boy assisting with his father's farm, much less a teenager sent off to face the very dangers of war. Even despite the horrors of his own capture, he could scarcely imagine sending someone so young off to that ancient warfare. For all he had known of the fae, bloodshed and gore were not things he easily attributed to Matteo. Frankly, he couldn't imagine the man in any sort of close combat no matter the age - such was merely a side of the fae he'd never before seen. Matteo was so often the very embodiment of gaiety. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as the were-King contemplated that life Matteo had before....everything. The very thoughts only saw the man inquire after how long he had been whisked away to the glories of war.

He watched as that frown fluttered across Matteo's features at that very inquiry, only to mention a man by the name of Clovis. The historical figure was entirely unknown to him, the were-King merely offering some nod of acknowledgment before Matteo pieced together those few years in his infinitely long life. Ten years. Ten years, Matteo had left his family behind. While it surely seemed fleeting in comparison to the sheer number that the fae had been alive, ten years for Tetradore was a veritable lifetime. He understood why, of course. His family surely needed the money and once in the army, leaving was often impossible without some sort of....pardon or something, he was sure. It was not entirely unlike his own strained relationship with Risque, at least, on the surface level of it. His own lips pressed together in some brief glimpse of discontent, his thoughts entirely steadfast upon that story he had been offered. One seemingly important fact, however, still grasped for Tetradore's attention. If Matteo's birth family had been fae - what had become of them? It was their very fate he asked after and yet, despite that warm simper, that single phrase surely told him well enough of their current state of existence. It was perhaps an understanding granted only through the shared death of his own parents.

That conversation, however, was cut off short by their arrival at the very edge of that forested path, one that was only briefly explained to them before they set off. Tetradore hardly faltered from joining his faux father in fully testing the very limit of those motorbikes. He so easily coaxed that bike up to speed, taking those swift corners with a sort of reckless abandonment. The mud flew out behind the pair of men, splattering everything in their wake. Tetradore was quick to learn to put some distance between himself and Matteo, that mud quickly began to coat both his bike and the boy himself. That small jump appeared just around a corner, wholly unexpected and yet, Tetradore hardly hesitated in the slightest, revving that bike onwards as he followed Matteo as the man all but flew over that natural ramp. His boldness all the more blatant in those moments of adrenaline as they whizzed past the world. After all, Tetradore faced, there was a naive part of him that so faced the world as if it was incapable of doing anything else to harm the man. It had already taken the world from him - what did one dangerous bike ride compare?

In fact, it wasn't until the bank of the river appeared before them that Tetradore pulled back on that accelerator, encouraging that bike to a pause beside Matteo. Those instructions he was given were easy enough to follow, those warnings fo what happened if he misjudged that jump were all but brushed aside as his hand fell with determination upon those handlebars. This was, he was certain, not an impossibility. After all, he'd jumped that Lamborghini before and that thing was hardly as aerodynamic. He hardly hesitated any longer before taking off, encouraging that bike to reach the very same high speeds he had coaxed from it earlier - if not even faster. He hit that ramp with unrivaled speed, entirely resolute in his success of that jump, even despite Matteo's warnings or the sheer size of that ramp before him. The bike landed on the other side with a jarring motion, threatening to come out from underneath him, though Tetradore was quick to right it, only to bring it to a sliding stop. He could hear Matteo's voice radiate over the river, that shout resulted in a rather abrupt scoff from his lips. "Only seventy percent?" He shouted back, clearly insulted by those low odds Matteo had afforded him.

That rich laughter only furthered the scowl upon his features, even as Tetradore moved that motorbike out of the way for Matteo to follow that very jump. His gaze turned upwards as he watched his father's bike fly over the very same ramp, landing with the smooth ease of someone who had jumped that jump thousands of time. Tetradore rolled his eyes as Matteo rolled his shoulders, only to wave the were-King onwards as if that jump had been nothing at all. He said nothing of it, however, simply twisting the handle of that bike to encourage it onwards on those far smoother flat roads the pair came across on their way to town. That was, of course, until Matteo led him off that path and down a far steeper hill, demanding a certain level of care at such a sharp descent. That very speed gravity forced out of those bikes hardly perturbed Tetradore in the slightest, the man more than willing to ride headlong into those natural ramps the hill provided, much less the willingness he regarded those abrupt sharp corners with. That ride, however, hardly lasted long before the road leveled out, providing Tetradore a few of a quaint little village. His own bike came to a slow, careful stop beside Matteo's own, his gaze trailing over the rooftops and silhouette of that French town.

It was that cutting of the engine that drew Tetradore's attention towards the Frenchman, the were-King quickly followed suit as he pulled his key from the ignition. Tetradore swung his leg over that motorcycle, glancing down at himself and the mud that caked his jeans. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly but the Alpha was certainly not perturbed enough to return to that estate just yet. It was, however, Matteo's assurance that they should merely leave the bikes here that caused his eyebrows to raise. "Are you...sure?" He inquired in disbelief. Really, he failed to see how, just because the land itself belong to Matteo, it might cause any passing individual to leave the bikes where they were. Still, he supposed it hardly mattered either way to either man, teleportation made transportation not an issue and the money for those motorbikes could easily be acquired by either. It was with but a small shrug that Tetradore turned to follow the Frenchman towards that very village, listening with some vague curiosity at Matteo's obscure description of that quaint historical village. Tetradore eyed that knowing grin and yet, he was entirely used to his companion's purposefully veiled nature.

Tetradore trailed after Matteo and through that small field towards a near-ancient road. His eyebrows rose at the sight of cobblestone underfoot - roads like this were...rare, even in Sacrosanct. Matteo hadn't been kidding in the slightest about that quiet town. He took in that village with the same quietude that so personified him. From the small, narrow roads to the absence of vehicles and the colored stone houses. It was peculiar, just how calm everything was. How quiet and quaint and unlike that metropolis he had lived in for so long. It reminded him, vaguely, of that forest he had grown up in. They had made a village of sorts of their own with those wooden cabins. Even though it wasn't quite like this, the tranquility of it all brought the were-King a certain sort of nostalgia, prompting a small simper at the corner of his features. His gaze trailed after those little store signs that blew lightly in the breeze, the words upon them wholly lost on him. The storefronts alone, however, tended to give away the contents within and, inquisitively, Tetradore was content to merely observe that small town he was surrounded by. His head bobbed ever so slightly at those French greetings the pair were offered, even if those words were equally as foreign to the man. Matteo, it seemed, visited that village quite enough to become a regular.

His gaze shifted towards Matteo as they suddenly paused in front of a small stall, filled to the brim with bread and lined with little yellow flowers. He listened to that exchange between the pair, the man only able to pick up a few bare words. French was so not his forte. Tetradore merely waited before that bread was quite near thrust at the fae, Matteo apparently conceding good-naturedly, only for a piece of crust to be handed towards him. "The crust....is the best?" He inquired as he plucked that piece of bread from Matteo's fingers. Admittedly, it hardly took much convincing at all before Tetradore was putting that piece in his mouth, the man hardly perturbed with the ideas of condiments or how unique French Bread was supposed to be. It was just bread. He chewed on that warm slice in consideration as the pair continued on to wander those quiet streets, only to announce several moments later. "It would have been better with butter." Well....it would have, even if he knew it would surely earn Matteo's glare. It was, however, the presence of the church that saw those boyish antics suddenly come to a cease, the presence of that cemetery only further confirmed what he had already begun to suspect. Even so, Tetradore followed Matteo with care through those headstones as the fae moved with purpose towards the very back of the cemetery.

He paused before those headstones Matteo gestured to, his emerald eyes briefly brushed over that age-old stone. The rock showed all the features of time itself, weathered by the elements and nature and yet, still it stood. The second one was far more recent. The words marked on it far more clear, the stone somehow...cleaner. A shame that she had died so recently. His gaze turned away from those headstones only as Matteo began to speak of his parents and that life he'd had so long ago with them. A small frown crossed his lips at the very mention of that purging of supernatural species. It had, after all, happened time and time again throughout history. With Matteo's age, it was inevitable he had not witnessed at least one of them. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly at that lost head, though he could not terribly say he was surprised either. Back then, respect for the body was....well....an afterthought, he was sure. It was that year of her death, however, that had lingered primarily on his mind, his gaze briefly turned towards that headstone as Matteo inquired of his own parents.

His head shook ever so slightly. "No. I went back there recently. It's all rubble and ash and bones now...." Bones, the remains of his family that were left open to the elements. Remains he hardly had the heart or strength to bury properly on his own. Maybe one day, but for now...it was that more immediate 'family' that drew his attention. "How did she die?" He inquired, glancing briefly back at the Frenchman. After all, he had thought Matteo's kind was...immortal. He had assumed she would have enjoyed that life of luxury in that glorious estate. But what if he was wrong? What if she had died of old age? And what did that mean for Matteo in return if such a thing was true? He watched as Matteo tore off another piece of that bread, handing it towards him, even if Tetradore had found himself losing his appetite. He glanced up from that baguette as Matteo suddenly declared that family to now comprise of different people, even though he'd hardly forgotten that family he'd once had. It was a sentiment that Tetradore knew painfully well. After all, what family did he have left?

aiden tetradore