amadeo had done his best to stay away from heda over the passing days, wishing to grant her space and time that was likely necessary in order to rid herself of the blood-sucking leper that was anselm. but this brought him to an important realization — if he was to marry heda, should he not familiarize himself with her sons?
surely they knew his face the same way that he knew their names, with him having only truly interacted with them in passing in order to avoid the wrath of their quack of a father. now was as good a time as any to get to know them. soon, they would have the choice of bearing his name.
the rendezvous shimmers with the glow of fireflies as he drags the hind limb of a pronghorn at his side, still warm and glistening with scarlet. if heda had raised them to have any taste, surely they would appreciate the meal.
hey, @Ezra! @Gideon! he sounds their names with a charming sing-song note, settling down on his haunches a safe distance from the prize. i brought you boys something!

out comes the boy who looked most like heda, plodding along with a rather grumpy, uncertain manner about him. this one was ezra, if amadeo remembered correctly; the one who was — normal, except for the fact that he seems to have picked up anselm's beer-battered accent.
amadeo smiles curtly down at the boy, gesturing with a raised forelimb to the fresh meat. i just wanted to say hello, he purrs. and i brought you lunch, if you'd like. take as much as you want. i've already eaten.
he peels his gaze away as if to give ezra some semblance of space; he was here to earn the trust of his future stepsons, not force them into calling him father. there was no success in that unless he wished for them to turn away from him the moment they hit nine months of age.
he idly watches a pair of songbirds mingling in the brush as he asks, so, how have you been? do you like being at the rendezvous?

this one took after anselm way too much for amadeo's liking.
i'm amadeo, he answers matter-of-factly, biting back the urge to strike the boy, maintaining his smile; though it becomes visibly strained. i'm friends with your mother. which was true. heda would've likely told them something similar. but now he began to wonder — had she not told her boys about him yet? even warned them of the fact that he existed?
you know, you've got quite a bit of resolve, he quirks a brow, shifting so that he may take the pressure off of his aging joints. perhaps he could pique the boy's interest in another way — anything to get him to stop glaring at him like that incredulous queer. i bet you will make a mighty general one day. perhaps a guardian, or a tactician. that's what i used to be, before i came to rivenwood.