Kintla Flatlands Manifest destiny

When she spoke again, her initial remark caused him to cock his head ever so slightly. He silently prepared questions to delve deeper into her meaning, only to be stopped and thoughts wiped clean by her question. He straightened up, the family name his own and the given name, he learned long ago, someone important to him, despite the lack of any true meeting between them; a child taken away, he never knew the paths necessary to take in order to find the man.

“Atâ,” he said, then corrected with, “My dad.” The word felt foreign on his tongue, never before used; Aningan was far too young at the time of his mother’s relocation to recall the man that was his father, his face blank and voice a memory from so early in his life that he wondered if the sound was truly the same. “How do you know him?” he asked, now significantly more interested in her. “Kinauven—who are you?” Do you know my mother, too? he wanted to ask but couldn’t bring himself to do so. It wouldn’t matter, either way, he knew—she had never cared as deeply for him like his siblings, after all. He doubted anyone knew he was even of her blood.