(I said that b/c I read that the average height of a man from those times was really only around 5'7 or something similar. People were not very tall. Plus, I'm pretty sure that people from Scandinavia have long been taller on average than those from lands further south.)
Leif was doing his best to scramble through the audience undetected. His heart was rushing, his pulse hastening to a gallop. Luckily, it seemed that many were too entranced by the slave sales to pay him any mind.
He beamed to himself, going so far as to slow down somewhat. He hardly desired to be out of breath upon returning home.
Besides, he was going to make it! He felt halfway there already! If only...
"Leif, is that you?"
He froze, his veins dropping precipitously in temperature until they were more frigid than the arctic winds of a Norse winter. The voice that had so pierced the air was distinct--feminine, razor-sharp, and accented to sound distinct from that of a typical Rhavonan.
He could hardly bear to turn to confront his immediate suspicions, yet that he did. Of course, one way or another, he saw none other than his mother shoving her way through the crowd toward him, disregarding the grunts and murmurs of those whose forms were shoved aside.
She reached him rapidly before he had the chance to further react. Next, his vision was shaking up and down as he looked on horrified. His fair countenance flushed with embarrassment.
"Oh, hey there, Mother, I was..." he began.
He felt the shaking die down and recovered his breath.
"I was just doing some, well, exploring, I guess."
He could not bear to meet her icy gaze.
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