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"Hilde, have you seen Louise?" your father's voice rumbles from beyond the doorframe. He may no longer be the young sword hand he used to be, but his voice has only grown deeper and more powerful with age.
Hilde nearly jumps out of her pants when she hears him. Not in the way she leaps out of her clothes when one of her boys comes calling, but more like a feral cat who just heard the crack of thunder. The mess of hair that tumbles down her back in a current of tangled, muddy-blonde curls stands up on edge. Rushing to her loft, she scurries up the ladder and grabs at a ring to pull down a curtain that hides away her bed. She sighs in relief when she sees your hand hovering over the doorknob, your expression amused and expectant.
Only when she gives you a thumbs up do you open the door for him.
Your father fills the hall in a way that few men can. At a gargantuan seven feet tall, your forehead only comes up to his chin, making him one of the only men you've met who didn't need to use magic to meet or exceed your height. He did not grow long and lanky, either. Were he shorter, he might have been called broad and stocky, with a barrel chest and muscles as thick as the trunk of a tree. Even at fifty years old, he remains hale and hearty, with muscles enough to strain at the simple ranching garments that he's taken to wearing in his old age.
His light hair has allowed him to age gracefully, with streaks of silver blending in subtly with his once untarnished mane of gold. He keeps his face clean shaven as he has for as long as you can remember, and he ties his hair into a loose ponytail that reaches halfway down his back. His blue eyes hide behind a gift you brought back from Stamen on your last trip to the capital - a pair of circular red-lensed spectacles that allow the wearer to see in darkness unimpeded.
"Hello Papa!" you greet your father with a smile.
"Howdy, Ross," Hilde gives a little sheepish waves to your father - Rousseau - while her eyes dart around the room in search of any embarrassing things sticking out from their hiding place. The last time that he saw something like that strewn about while the two of you were having some girl talk... you'd rather not think about it.
"I hope you two haven't been getting into too much trouble," your father says. Something about the way he speaks drags you back to the days of your childhood schemes with René and the other children. He ducks through the door, careful not to bang his head on the frame. A familiar problem for you, one completely alien to Hilde. "Hilde, I see you've finished... ah, those are new armorsilks, aren't they? Which means the old..."
You and Hilde share a brief look with one another while your father shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. "Well, the <span class="mu-i">last</span> time your armorsilks got ruined beyond repair, you sent the Alans men running back to their hills. So it must have been a hell of a fight."
