The world was nothing short of...conflicting in youth. Perhaps, even now, with his own youth long since passed Matteo was still inclined to find the world a curiously obscure place and yet those fears that had plagued him in his younger days, those worries that had felt as if they gnawed at his soul- had passed. Indeed, they had been replaced by an entirely different set of worries. The very sort that came with worrying for one's own children. Each stage of life so brought with it a new set of concerns and while perhaps his own had hardly lessened- he remembered those very ones that seemed to plague Arya now. He had felt them too- once. Matteo so doing his best to offer those words which had taken him years to find and understand in some hope that they might bring some peace to the girl and her troubled soul. How simple a decision it seemed to join a pack and yet, for a Were, a pack was....life. A chosen family. One who might well, in time, come to mean more to a Were then those family of blood. It was in the nature of their very species to seek that connection. Matteo long since having come to believe that very connection had, more than once, saved his own son from a path of hell-bent destruction of himself. His pack needed him and for them- Tetradore survived. For them he persisted. If only they knew how very much he did for them.

Matteo allowed such thoughts to pass for now. The Frenchman instead returned his attention to his young companion as she recalled the story of the scar that had found its way to her flesh and the insistence that, in the very least, she had gained a significantly toughened appearance because of it. How readily that simper of amusement found the Fenchmans lips. Matteo inclined to chuckle softly as he eyed that very wound before agreeing that such a battle scar was surely one to be proud of. The young woman's efforts to appear all the tougher only furthered that humour upon his features. Arya further proclaimed that everyone should be afraid of her. Her slender femanine frame was so clearly terrifying. The young woman insisted that at least the scar provided a story- one that made herself far less boring then she had originally believed herself to be. Matteo's own head shook gently, the near ancient Fae affording him companion a warm simper then.

"There are few WereSeal's in the world. I think, Mon Amie, you were always interesting but I will say this- the scar does make for a very good story."

That tale he had been offered, he suspected, was perhaps something of a short version of the truth and yet that very truth was for herself and Tetradore alone. Matteo finding himself near amused to consider it before Arya's query on speaking to Tetradore himself prompted the Frenchman to offer his own truth. The sinking of the Ark had been nothing short of...traumatic for the Nightshade Pack. The circumstances that surrounded it equally so. That engine failure and subsequent explosion Tetradore had attempted to convince the pack off had placated them and yet how the loss of that ship had all but fractured his sons already broken soul. How difficult it was becoming to hold Aiden together. Matteo assured he had long since run out of that metaphorical tape and string he had been using to hold together those crumbling pieces of his son. Yet- that hope existed still. He had already seen it. That new Ark, when it came, would be far better then the old one had ever been. The Nightshade pack, within it, destined to find a sense of security and a far more lavish lifestyle. Arya's features however were quick to pale at his offering of that news, the young woman quick to seek assurance that every member of tht pack had made it out. Matteo nodded, his accented words parting his lips once more.

"Oui, Mon Cherie. Each of them made it out in time and none were injured. You have nothing to fear."

He offered that assurance softly as Arya seemed to further contemplate that sinking ship, her eyes so momentarily cast downward, the young woman lost to her own thoughts. Yet, if it was Tetradore she still sought, the Frenchman was near assured that finding him would hardly be so terribly difficult. Even with his pack scattered to the wind in that moment, its Alpha so rarely strayed terribly far from the West and the territory he had laid claim to long ago. Those places Matteo was assured his son might frequent were offered readily to Arya then. The Frenchman pausing but briefly to allow the faintest touch of his own affinity to find him then. Those silvery risis were momentarily lost beneath a surge of scarlett red before quickly fading once more. Matteo, today, so hardly having bothered with the sunglasses he often wore to conceal that very imagery. Arya, it seemed, had noticed that brief change in colour- the woman blinking in curiosity beside him and yet- as was so often the way of the Frenchman- he saw but little need to explain it. A near impish smile so finding his lips then, that warm grin hardly faltering as he regarded his pleasant young companion.
"I have been told my eyes sometimes look different in certain light- or if I wear pastels."

That, he knew, was so hardly what she had seen and yet how very amusing it was to see that confusion upon her features. The woman, like so many before her, caught between that curiosity and desire to be polite. Matteo, in that moment, so purposefully entangling her all the more in that near harmless game of sorts. Ah, but she was such a lovely young woman.She would surely not mind his teasing her but just a little bit. Arya was quick to recover all the same. The young woman insisted she would write down those times he had offered her in the hopes she might find Tetradore. Arya reached into her pocket then, the young woman pulled her phone from within before her very features seemed to pale suddenly once more. Whatever it was she had seen upon its screen so clearly causing her seom measure of distress as she hurried to input those dates and put that phone away. Her voice, this time, having lost that sweet, light-hearted edge it had held before as she insisted she had surely kept enough of his time. What a truly curious young woman. Matteo's gaze shifted from her features and down towards her hands. The shake they seemed to find was nothing short of clear and yet for a moment still the near-ancient Fae so merely observed that young woman- before his own hand reached out to momentarily find her own.

"Your hands looked cold, Mon Amie. I think perhaps you should wear gloves next time, non?"

His hand rested atop her own for the barest of moments. How surely it was not gloves they really spoke of in that moment and yet indirectness was so often the way to directness in turn. He afforded her hands a fleeting and yet gentle squeeze before Matteo so proceeded to lie abruptly back. The French Fae was too tall for that towel, his head resting within the sand itself and yet in that moment he was assured he hardly minded as his hands came to rest on his own chest. Arya's insistence she had spoiled his plans for the day met with a small wave of his hand. Whether or not she might wish to speak of thwart had been on her phone he hardly knew and yet- Matteo was content to present her that chance all the same. Perhaps she might simply wish to sit beside him. That too was a service he was assured he could offer.

"I am not so busy today."

c'est dur d'être un dieu.