"Excuse you!" The voice came from a very irritated Pipit, with his hands perched on his hips. He was staring at the sight of two incredibly dirty children sitting in what had to be the largest puddle of mud he had ever seen. Two sets of baby blue eyes looked up at the brunette. Two sets of lips began to sputter out excuses.
"We put on our play clothes!"
"Mummy said we could!"
"It's fun!"
"It'll wash off!"
One tiny hand flung out to point at the other, younger, child. "Her idea!" The damage was done though. The hand slung mud across and into the eyes of the little girl—who immediately began to cry when the gritty substance stung. The older sibling gasped. "O-oops!"
The cry started out as a whimper, and turned into a full on squeal mixed with tears and sniffles. "Daaaaadddddyyyyy!"
Pipit honestly had half a mind to say 'I told you so', but doing that to a child wasn't really fair. He instead knelt down near the puddle, raising one of his eyebrows at the disgusting mess. Oh how he hated dirt. Dust. Mud. Anything that would remind him of the revolting state his mother's home had been in when he was a teenager, really.
But against all his hatred for the substance in question, he reached out his arms and picked up his daughter with a sigh. He pulled the squawking child against his chest and stood up, allowing her to drip disgusting brown mud all over his spotless yellow uniform. "It's alright." He muttered in the most soothing way he knew how to while his daughter smeared the gook over the chainmail and even his face and neck in an attempt to hug him.
He shifted so he could hold her with one arm, and extended his other to the child still sitting in the mud. "Come on. Time to wash up."
"…Mum really did say we could…" The tiny hand wrapped around the knight's.
Pipit rolled his eyes at the excuse once more placed before him. "Mummy isn't the one who has to give you a bath."