The smell of flowers is ripe, like walking
through vast fields of spring. The fresh air, cool and soothing, caressing Moulin's face. Yet it is also warm and inviting, like returning home from a bloody war. In every step the young man took, he felt like he would face an untouchable and indestructible creature. Only, it was his father, and his body was as fragile as a child. His father's body is weak and vulnerable to sickness. Moulin wondered how he was afraid, but there was nothing to be afraid of. His father wouldn't hurt him.
The sword on his belt clanked as he walk. When Moulin lifted his eyes off his feet, he saw a frail-looking figure sitting straight and staring at the windows. He was shrouded with an air of solemnity. It felt as if Moulin was back eight years ago. Where he saw his father, calmly staring out in the open at his desk. Looking regal and positively charming yet cold like an invincible wall protecting his land and family.