The older you were, the harder it was? That seemed to make sense in a very easy to follow way. The older a kindred got, the further they were from when they had actually been human, had been alive. What was his sire's reason for keeping hold? Did he keep hold? If not, he had been a good actor, for all Rhys knew. What did he use to hold on? What did Amadeus use? Maybe if the younger man would ask him sometime.
So many questions kept popping up and almost none of them were getting answered. He wasn't really often frustrated but he could feel it crawling up his throat, a feeling that made the skin prickle. It kept coming back to question of the blood, about the magic, about the beast. About being alive or being killed. What would the beast feel like, anyway? Something that would whisper to him in the dark? Making him give it all up and kill? Would the magic help the beast do that?
Blinking a little more than normal, the kid realized he had gotten in his own head again. He even almost missed the wink leveled at him. What? Had he impressed his teacher, even a little bit? That had to be a good thing, right? Maybe he was doing a good job at proving himself in Henry's absence. He had seen something in Rhys, maybe he could do that with Amadeus and everyone else, too. "English, some French and Spanish." And just like that, he felt like he was less impressive already. Even so, it was more than the rest of his family knew - they weren't the type to try and learn other languages. "A good deal of Henry's books aren't those."