Gemotions

The scent of pipe tobacco still clung to Arthur's sweaters, a comforting aroma he'd cultivated for decades. He’d taught Elara, his daughter, how to pack a bowl at the tender age of five, her little fingers clumsy but determined. Now, at fifteen, Elara was practically a connoisseur. Arthur found her, perched on the porch swing, a fine briar pipe held between her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration. He went to stand beside her. A soft smile tugged at his lips. He sat beside her and tapped her knee. "Mind if I join you, Captain?" he asked. He gently squeezed her shoulder.