"Mother? Who is this man?"
Came the voice from down the hallway, followed by light, quick steps upon the wooden floor. Shortly after, a blond haired youth emerged from the hall, holding a frame in his hands. Inside it was the picture of a man-- golden eyes, black hair, scar across the bridge of his nose, freckles upon his cheeks and going down his neck while flashing a smile at the camera. Sophitia looked over, blinking. So he had found that-- not that she didn't expect Sigurd to do so.
"Oh, him? You'll see when you'll be older, my dear."
She smiled as she walked over, her steps silent. The old warrior then reached over to take the frame from the small child's hands with one hand, while the other simply ruffled locks of blond hair gently-- earning a small disgruntled noise from the youth.
"All you need to know... Is that he's very dear to me."
Then followed the almost hushed whisper before Sophitia moved away-- only for her young boy to quickly follow behind her. Placing the frame upon one of the shelves, she then returned to the cleaning she had been doing in preparation of getting new furniture into the small home that she now owned.
It was the only thing that she had of her first son-- who hadn't been home in years.