Presently he felt motion. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked.
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