Ducks

"Daddy, look!" The strawberry-blonde boy of six tossed another bit of bread into the lake, watching with delight as the ducks swam forth to fight over the morsel. "They like it!"

The boy's father took a step forward through the tall grass of the meadow and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Yes, Anatole, they do."

Anatole Dolokhov gave his father a brilliant smile and turned back to the lake and the ducks. Theodore watched the boy with a tearing sense of nostalgia for his own youth and the company of Anatole's uncle in whose honor he was named.

Money

Money wasn't as much of a problem for the Dolokhovs as it had been in Theodore's youth. His mother's death and sister's marriage probably had something to do with it, but more significant were the money Vasili Kuragin had left as inheritance to his grandson – illegitimate though he may be – and the business deals Theodore had successfully made himself.

The new, relative, abundance of money allowed Theodore to acquire a small but picturesque country estate where he chose to live with his son. Away from society was a nice change – no more pompous pretences. He was hardly leaving anyone behind.

Uncle

"Dad?"

"Yes, Anatole?"

"You never talk about my uncle. Why? You've told me about Mother but never him."

Theodore looks up from the papers he has been reading and regards his son, now nine – already nine – thoughtfully. Anatole is standing in the doorway to his study, fidgeting with the cuff of his linen shirt and he looks every bit the Kuragin. "What would you like to know?"

Anatole shrugs. "Anything. You were friends, right?"

Theodore beckons the boy over and he runs to sit on his father's knee, beautiful blue eyes – the only Dolokhov thing about him – overflowing with curiosity.

Gizmo

Teaching Anatole to ride was something Theodore had looked forward to. Now that the boy had turned six, he figured it was about time to put him on a pony independently. Anatole watched with great curiosity as "his horsey" was saddled. The boy looked around at the different equipment with a state of newfound interest. He picked up a hoof pick and examined it carefully. "Daddy, what is this thingy for?"

"That is called a hoof pick. It is used for cleaning the horse's hooves so that they stay clean and healthy."

Anatole nodded seriously, committing the information to memory.

Tales

Anatole loved being read to. He would curl up in bed, pull the blanket up to his chin and listen to his father read some story book to him. For Theodore, putting Anatole to bed was probably the most peaceful time of day, the most gratifying and satisfying. He would read until the boy fell asleep, drifting off into a realm of dreams where he didn't need a book to create adventures for himself. After the boy fell asleep, Theodore would sit for some time longer, watching his son and vowing that he would never let the child slip away.