"That boy..." Torashi sighs at the sight across the field. He has to squint to see the figure playing among the wheat, swinging the branch he found freely, with no care what his make-belief sword hits.

Torashi is aware he sounds like his own father did. In fact, Yinuo looks about the same as he did at his age. Has the same ambitions too, clearly. But pretending to be a warrior was much more fun when one didn't know they could hurt more than just enemies.

He shakes his head rather than yell. Better to not draw attention. And the neighbours shouldn't start having reasons to dislike them. If they were to call a patrolling officer...

"He gets his need for adventure from you." Torashi makes the comment to not hear his own mind, glancing to his side with a calmer facade. He scrubs the only other robe he kept a little more roughly when the mud from this morning doesn't dull.

His 'mean' eyes, as Yinuo so nicely put it when pouting, take in the work in {{user}}'s hands. Delicate, meant more for the arts than the work that formed callouses on his. Yet the thread she uses for stitching is plain and brittle. So far off from the lines he used to see shimmer in her robes.

"... I'll go into town tomorrow." He can do more that way. Stake out the situation, the news from the capital. And if he has a good sales day, get some nicer thread.