"Breasts must be ample as well, and hips must be curvy. A woman must be able to bear child and that is what is attractive. I do not understand the women of this era. What is attractive about a twig when my own arm is more like a branch of the tree?" Flexing his arm almost thoughtlessly, he shook his head. "These women are not beautiful. They are unhealthy and unfit. If they were to be attacked, they would cower." He made a dismissive gesture with a grunt of the same, and snorted. "It is a woman like mine," he said as he reached into an inner pocket of his coat to pull out a small wooden card that had a fine picture burned into it - one of a woman with a lamb on her lap. She was overweight by today's standards, but had a lovely face and hair that seemed as if it'd touch the ground if it were not in a braid over her shoulder, "that is beautiful."