The boy looked rugged. He had not been keeping himself in top condition for a few weeks now. Seeking company was out of the question too. He did not any worrying looks or stern words. The piebald boy often lingered near his father's - @Nicolò's - den entrance before he peeled himself away to tend to other matters. Although Romanov shied away from the loud noises that seemed far too frequent. Instead, he usually hid away under his favorite willow tree. It was a mostly silent spot (excusing the sound of nature) tucked up against the northern border.
That was where the boy hid away that late morning. He hummed softly to himself, amber eyes closed as he thought over stories he had been told before. There was the warm memory of his mother and her soft voice, the morning light making everything glow with grandness. The discussion has been filled of reaching the skies and flying along with his mother's home. Perhaps that was where she had gone off to. It was a warming thought even if being abandon still seemed so cold.