<em>Her father watches her closely as she trains with her scimitar against the tree he's animated. The blade, an unenchanted practice weapon, likely won't be able to so much as scratch it, but, for now, at least, they aren't working on force, but bladework. He knows every mistake she may make before she makes it, every flaw... after all, she's going through the exact same training he did in his youth. His sky-blue gaze is harsh and unforgiving, his strong, tanned face the image of masculinity as his medium length, dirty blond hair is mussed by the wind. To an outside observer, he might seem an older brother, the ravages of time having stopped bothering him a dozen years ago, when he reached the highest echelons of druidic magic during the Second War of the Black Dragon Plague.<br/><br/>Normally, Leorn Goldenmane might remain silent, his gaze critical through sessions for hours on end. However, today, he's been more forgiving than usual with his daughter, even complimenting her on a few particularly choice accomplishments throughout the day. As dusk begins to settle on the forest, he dismisses the magic, signalling that their training for the day is over. An early break. For the past week, she's been forced to continue training from an hour before dawn to an hour after nightfall. He let her sleep in this morning, too.<br/><br/>Smiling slightly, he strides over to her, his tall, well-muscled form clad in the green robes of a druid, a tunic, breeches, and boots beneath, staff in hand. He reaches out to ruffle her hair affectionately before catching her in a tight embrace.<br/><br/>"Happy 18th birthday."</em>