Heiye was all smiles today, and Sev has asked me not to comment. It is very hard not to comment when a growing thirteen year old boy is bouncing off the walls with happiness.
Heiye has come a long way. His hair is long enough to have required a haircut or two by now, I suspect Cook gave those to him, soft, straight and soot-colored. He is dressed much better, as has of course been expected of him, in clean and mended clothing. No more uniform, but this will do. Beige does nothing for his coloring. His skin shines a healthy copper, washed out or no, and he has muscle covering his bones. He’s started putting on height, the poor child. He’s going to be a long, lanky one.
Sev is a long, lanky one. He was, anyway, until he grew serious about his training for the army and turned muscular. I am long without being lanky, prefering limbs that stay the right length with my body. I do remember a few awkward, coltish years just after I came to live with Sev, however, growing up under his mother’s expert eye. She always did make me feel like I’d gotten grass stains on my dress and fallen in a pond.
Part of that was likely Sev’s penchant for getting grass stains on my dress and insisting we go swimming with all our clothes on. I never did learn to manage him the way she did, not that I want to. I much prefer my husband to be my husband, and all that implies. Complain I shall, but control him I shall not. I could not.
There I go, always writing about Sev when I have a dozen other things on my mind. I don’t usually think on him this much. It is the combination of him being home all the time and away all the time, I would say.