Aiden's lips pressed together in a distinctly unimpressed manner, that comparison between himself and his faux father one that he so often staunchly retaliated against. His insistence that he had been listening was met with a roll of Matteo's eyes, though the pair were seemingly content to otherwise ignore those exasperated expressions before the Frenchman gestured towards the place that he intended to leave the milk replacer that Aiden would become so familiar with in the impending weeks. His head bobbed in a small nod of acknowledgment before he trailed after his father and towards the living room he'd been settled so comfortably within before the news of the broken fencing had stirred them both into action. A soft breath of contentment left his lips as Aiden flopped onto the plush cushions of the sofa, the goat within his arms only seemed to have become increasingly more...enthusiastic with her flailing, her bleating equally as desperate for that meal she'd so clearly smelled. He allowed his hands to be repositioned at his father's beckoning before Matteo showed him the correct way to hold the bottle in an effort to assist the small goat in her needs for food.

She was, admittedly, entirely keen on latching onto that bottle the moment it was in reach. The little goat hardly needed much prompting at all as her tail wiggled in excitement. Slowly, Matteo's hands dropped from his own, Aiden left to do his best as he carefully held the ecstatic creature in the palm of his hand. He hardly anticipated the little goat to bring those memories to Matteo's lips. Though it wasn't particularly rare for the Frenchman to share those moments of the past, they were usually reserved for times in which Aiden so desperately needed a distraction from the horrors life so frequently threw at him. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he listened astutely to that story. Admittedly, he was almost unsurprised by the flippant disregard that Matteo had for the armor and weapons that he had once been tasked with. For all Aiden knew of those battles of days long past, he struggled, as he aged, to truly view his own father figure as capable of the cold, skilled precision many of those wars had required of him. Matteo's inability to skirt the responsibility of those living creatures that so depended upon him was quintessential of the Frenchman he knew so well. Still, he could hardly help but to wonder if those lambs had instilled within the fae the same level of care for those items he'd once utilized with such neglect.

He watched as Matteo reached forward to scratch the wiggling goat's back in a near absentminded gesture, that chuckle almost assured Aiden of the answer even before it fell from his father's lips. A soft, almost contemplative sound left his lips in response to the tale, though admittedly Aiden found the end of it...intriguing. After all, surely it would have been...beneficial to instill some level of attentiveness to those weapons within the Frenchman, wouldn't it? Was utilizing Matteo's tender heart truly the strength of his grandfather or a failure? Though, he supposed, forcing the fae to do that which he clearly detested would have only bred contempt. Perhaps...it was...worthwhile to..re-evaluate how he was utilizing his own pack. After all, many of the women abhorred those fights despite their participation in ensuring they continued on without a hitch. Maybe they too might be better placed...elsewhere? Such considerations, however, were momentarily placed within the back of Aiden's mind as his father once again uttered of the past.

This tale hardly had the same...impact upon the Were-King, at least not initially. Indeed, he struggled to comprehend the importance of that singular foal, much less why feeding was somehow a showcase of his grandfather's character. His baffled query, however, earned him the full weight of those enigmatic silver irises - a gaze which the vibrant green of his own so effortlessly met. How...easy it was for the Alpha to understand those concepts of war when spoken in such a manner. He knew of that distance required from himself to murder time and time again without hesitation. How many times he had closed himself off to the world afterwards, if only for the assurance that whomever made any effort to include themselves within his life would only suffer for it, at the end. Slowly his gaze followed Matteo's own and towards the small goat within his hand, her wiggling had stilled, that assurance that the bottle was not about to be removed had resulted in her entire focus now upon it rather then her efforts to get to it. It was hardly difficult, as Matteo spoke of his grandfather, to see the parallels that the Frenchman was so attempting to make and yet he was entirely unprepared to process that life lesson that Matteo so seemingly wished to instill within him. He was silent, in the aftermath of it, those furrowed brows the only indication of just how heavily that story had fallen upon him.

Though he allowed that conversation to shift, there was little doubt he would continue to dwell upon those words later, within the comfort of his own darkened bedroom. For now, it was the suggestion of the goat's name that drew his attention back towards her. It was the first time that Aiden had ever had a pet, hell, it was the first time he had ever named anything within his life - that task somehow...daunting as Aiden considered the finality of it. For a long moment, Aiden remained silent, simply considering the multitude of choices that lay before him before, softly, he muttered his simple need to think on it. After all, he hardly knew what sort of name was suitable for a pet goat. Those suggestions Matteo offered for a name were regarded carefully, his head shaking ever so slightly at the idea of 'Storm' and 'Rain'. They hardly felt...right, though he had little idea of what did either. "....Aello...?" He repeated that word with a hint of an inquiry at the pronunciation and yet, it too served to prompt a frown upon his features. "She...doesn't seem like an Aello...but...I'll find her a name." He conceded almost solemnly, the Were-King content to watch the little goat finish that bottle with furrowed brows, the Were-King bizarrely steadfast in his desire to name her something....right regardless of how long it took.