“Yes,” he replied. Noah fluttered around the journal, flipping a few pages towards the front of the book.

The journal he had was old but it didn’t look it. He kept it under good care, kept it locked away and unexposed to the elements of time. His trunk held all things precious to him, and the journal was it as well. As he was flipping Elann could see various drawings of unfinished things, things that once had his interest but lost it as he had begun drawing. He was highly critical of himself and of the objects that managed to keep his attention. There were a lot of still life items from piles of gold to fruit on a table to the fireplace with an active flame. The framework had been laid but the bulk of the project failed to come through.

Finally, he came to a series of portrait drawings, many of them busts viewed from the perspective of the shoulders upwards. This wasn’t so far in his history to denote a beginner but these were better than what he had just drawn, the lack of practice over the years catching up to him. He came to a page and stopped there, turning the book over to face Elann. The [url=http://orig11.deviantart.net/4b7d/f/2015/091/6/5/emily_rudd__2_by_ringzeroart-d8o049a.jpg]image[/url] depicted a younger Aimee, her face being smaller and less defined. Her hair wasn’t as long, bid away in a braid, her eyes pale with large pupils. There was detail, shine, and shading. It wasn’t masterful but the Kelvic’s attention to detailed aided him immensely when it came to how his hands translated his sights to the page.

“She asked me if I wanted to go to the market with her and father,” he said, explaining the story behind the picture. “I remembered her face like this and drew it when we came back home.”

The Kelvic’s memory was near photographic, able to denote and recall features down to small details. He needed it when going over his territory, when choosing where he wanted to hunt and which trees he was most comfortable perching in.

Noah turned the journal to face himself again, flipping through it more. He set it on his lap as he looked through the old pictures, slowing as he came to another image depicting a nude woman lounging over a couch. The focus was on her face but there was detail in her hair, breasts, and the curvature of her upper body. The edges were darkened with heavy smudging, the light coming from another place in the picture. He kept flittering after that, coming to the end and then closing the journal.

“I’m glad you like it,” he softly said, resting his hands over the now closed book.