Henley was a monster.<br/><br/>The way he made his money, the way he protected what was his. The man liked to say Ewan got everything from him, and there'd be some truth in that, but Ewan put some of Ada's red in Henley's black to a make dark hair for himself. They'd been completely engulfed by love, the two of them, and it had changed during a foxhunt when Ewan was learning the rifle instead of the buckshot. His father had seen him shoot from horseback, and clip the legs off a quick something with three trigger-pulls. Ewan blinked back at Mr. Bradshaw, as gleeful as any child who'd surpassed what he'd been told.<br/><br/>Since then life had been a competition, and the love-hungry boy had retreated into his mother. And Matilda smelled like her. Strength in family, even when family is the enemy.<br/><br/>Disowned over a squabble. Henley was loosing their feud but he still held all the deeds. A heated argument ran too deep with its piques and the blood in Ewan's body was too dark for his father, and his veins ran too close to the two women. His mouth could not have held even if he wanted to. Neither did Henley's. It was the kind of day that couldn't be forgotten in the swell of years, and Ewan understood the significance of it. He'd rot in his father's shadow.<br/><br/>So he packed a single bag and brought along some silver he'd won fairly off a few friends. His mouth burned from not kissing sprouting Tillie and stunning Ada goodbye, but they saw him stomp over the pebbles of their front as he left. If he looked back he'd be stuck, and then who would write his story. The life he looked for came rather easily after that. Bradshaw was a big enough name that they trusted you, but not so regarded they'd send you home for running away.<br/><br/>He got a ticket to a boat, and found way to Asia. They liked him on deck and they respected him on land. He did well enough trading fabric by the sea, but found himself deeper in the city in a drunken fit, eager for his success and frustrated by the time it was taking. He couldn't stand seeing Tillie in the dyed cloth or mother in the statues, anymore. The sun drenched buildings offered intoxication if he could solve their riddles. He had a taste and blue eyes were filled with new wonder as smoke curled out to become a beard around his handsome details.<br/><br/>He learned their language, despite it being frowned upon, and was cast out of his company for being close with the natives. But the people who lived there wanted his one boat, and they were right to, because when he returned without the cargo they'd loaded on it, he had five more. It was all thinly disguised as a tea trade, which was lucrative in the traditional sense, but it was the dragon fumes and dirty fires that turned his won silver into enough gold to live grandly off, even in his hometown.<br/><br/>He had a reputation with him, for being viciously loyal by the tradesmen who wouldn't get a voice from Ewan's countrymen, and for being just vicious by those who bought his hidden goods in colder harbors. He bought his father's cut of suit, and then dictated his own tailoring. Melda would have been glad to see the materials and the buttons, but he missed her touch and signature stitches.<br/><br/>On the day he wore a red vest under his blue jacket. The story of the mourning twins had traveled when they didn't, couldn't, and he thought he should be as bright as possible. Abraham had almost cried. Josie had fainted. Ewan had them both ready the house for him. He'd have no pictures of Henley, and wrote very specific changes to the decor for them. Furniture would be coming. A feast too. He could kill for Magdalena's bird.<br/><br/>He was looking around his old home, and was amazed by how time had neglected it all. It felt empty of father, but his two loves had charged it with something else. It made his lip tremble when he touched the banister with his leather glove. When he pressed his cheek, on his knees, to the arm of mother's chair, he sobbed. There was no such weakness in him left that anyone else could conjure.<br/><br/>When they returned he noticed too late. He wanted to hold the gates for them. Instead he ran through the halls while he heard their voices, already let out from their carriage. It was broader shoulders that emerged on the same boy's waist. He ran down the stairs with all the confidence of the world he'd seen. A dapper stag. "Mother! Tillie!" he called, thunderous. He was there with them and chased Abraham away so he could help them down by their hands.<br/><br/>A big grin on his face. Like when he'd brought the torso of the fox back, before Henley had soured forever. A dark satisfaction. What had he learned in his time away, deep in the exotics? He bowed low to embrace them both, after he'd set them beside each other, on the pebbles he'd walked over, leaving.<br/><br/>"Matilda." he said, and quickly took closer, squeezing her like his arms were holding her limbs together, and then he kissed her, firm on her smart mouth, first with his head this way, only to unlock and give her a pause before his head tilted in another angle, and he kissed her deeper. Like it was natural to steal your baby sibling's first such experience.<br/><br/>He set her down eventually, with a look of familiarity, and then turned to touch his mother's cheek. He'd keep her still, with father's eyes, and leaned closer. A softer touch between their mouths, but lingering, indeed like a husband. He'd grown  up during his time away. Abraham was so shocked he dropped a big bag and undid the spell with the thud. Ewan laughed and took their hands.<br/><br/>"I've had Grant fetch the papers." Laywer, who'd worked with Henley. It was the spirit of the times that awarded the oldest son everything, even one as absent as Ewan. "I have great plans for our family." he delivered with look back as he longed to stand in the house with them. The stairs were passed quickly. He spun around as though he was welcoming them home, and he'd not been away a minute. "Tell me everything." he insisted, drunk on love despite the shadows that made the set of his eyes deeper. He'd live a handful of lifetimes, now. And their absence coupled with his methods for staying away had weathered his soul like the sails of his ships.<br/><br/>Maybe Ewan had become monster, too.