He knew from the sound more that the sight that she was cutting her hair again. As soon as it began to tickle her shoulders even slightly she'd have the razor out and be sawing away.
Her nose was scrunched up in concentration; she always struggled round the back so it ended up longer than the rest. Her hands deftly caught thick locks and scraped them across the blade.
When she finished she straightened, tied her bandana back across her forehead and grinned her child grin. In the mirror she saw a pair of stormy eyes just like her fathers (a fact she was proud of despite what she might say) and a heroine's smile. He saw a woman with such a mix of young and old flowing in and out of her features that he had to look away.