A gentle summer night spreads over the coast of Tephra. The soft swish of large leaves swaying in the cooling night-breeze is its own lullaby, complemented by the soft song of tropical insects and sleepy birds. It’s peaceful in Claudius’ homeland, as it almost always has been since the last great war Beqanna has seen. When he looks up, he sees the passing figures of twin dragons and smiles, only ever knowing the creatures as guardians despite Tephra’s dark history.

It’s perfect—this night. The kind of night that defined most of his upbringing and early adulthood. Claudius often reminisces, his mind in distant times and places simply so he might retain the optimism keeping his heart strong. At his brightest, he exists on a spiritual high, full of riddled wisdom and warm smiles—at his darkest, he remembers the colors of fresh and dried blood, the salty taste of warm tears, and the heart wrenching cries of his mother.

All things together, is what he tells himself. All things together make for who I am.

All things being the rare visits from his cursed father. All things being the warm, reassuring lilt of his mother’s voice. All things being rejection, even on those warm Tephran nights.

It is not a Tephran night that Claudius now wanders through. Though summertime and warm, the brilliant colors of the dying sun are muted by the distant rumblings of a humid thunderstorm. Claudius peers at the sky, in the direction of the rolling clouds, soft chin lifted in observation. His eyes—usually the softest periwinkle—glow with the fire of the passing star. Somewhere in the tree line across the meadow, a bird calls a warning of the approaching weather.

When the rain comes, he will be ready for it.

There are always shadows one cannot avoid, yes? As beautiful as the bright summer sky might be, the seasonal thunderstorms are always lingering on the horizon. Most unpredictable, one is bound to be caught in the downpour eventually. Perhaps Claudius seeks out those storms. A casual observer might agree, with the way he resolutely faces the coming onslaught, as if he was born to weather every storm so that others may not have to. He is pensive in that way, though it does not show on his face. A serene flatness softens his eyes and loosens his lips. Yes, he thinks, I was born to see disaster. I was born to piece it back together.

Claudius has always known his father to be a storm and his mother to be the roof above his head. Sometimes, there is a roaring so loud in his chest that he feels as if he is both: simultaneously the sword and the shield. There's a burning hurt that beats in the cobwebbed corners of his heart, shadows that pulsate with a heavy darkness, demons he thought he defeated long ago. In the storm above, they await him. The starved spiders, the darkness with claws, the face of his father twisted into something wrong.

He is something wrong.

No sane creature peers into a storm such as this and thinks they are destined to defeat it.

Perhaps it is that insanity that keeps his serenity so warm and welcome. Dig a little deeper beneath that handsome, open visage, and one will find all his shadows burst forth.

Claudius offers Apothica a similar smile, though his is a little too wide around the edges. He studies her in passing, wondering what the pink of her coat might look like beneath a full, beaming sun. His eyes have strayed from her and back to the sky when she turns around. Claudius catches the movement, periwinkle eyes flashing back to the stranger immediately. Cocking his head, he studies Apothica a little closer after she makes her offer. The smile from before slowly returns to his face.

"Of course," Claudius answers, immediately falling into step with her.

"You often run from storms?"

For all the good that Claudius is, he has never been particularly perceptive. Instead, his desire to always see the good in others tends to blind him to their irritation or anger. He finds himself to be an ideal personality: sociable, kind, giving; and while he does not demean opposite characteristics, he spends too long searching for himself in others.

Claudius will never guess that Apothica did not mean for him to accompany her, and the pleasant smile on his face is evidence of that. He is almost insanely good-natured beneath the roiling clouds of a nasty storm, the softly thrumming energy of the weather pulsing steadily in his chest. Apothica offers an exciting element to his chaos-chasing, one that Claudius enjoys so much she will likely be agitated with him by the end of their encounter.

“Yes,” he answers simply, wondering if it is his fault she took his question so literally, or if that was a touch of sarcasm. He sneaks a quick glance at her, noting the unique shape and startling pink of the markings on her face.

“Often,” Claudius says—though he never seeks danger for the pure love of it. “Perhaps not danger exactly, but all the problems seeking answers. Or the fear in need of courage,” he adds, voice thoughtful and engaging.

Matching Apothica’s steps easily, Claudius swishes his tail in time with their hoof beats. A loud clap of thunder followed by a close flash of lightning offers a show above them. The chestnut looks up, pale gaze finding serenity once again.

“You seek shelter, though? Even if you are not running?” he asks as they draw closer to the tree-line.

“Have you ever been trapped in a storm?”

The pair barely escape the sudden downpour, but little droplets make their way through the forest canopy just enough to occasionally splatter on Claudius' hide. He looks upward, blinking at the darkness deepened by the trees. All was silent save for the constant wash of water and the crack of thunder. The creatures of the forest are hunkering down just as they are. The feeling is almost eerie, quiet and nearly watchful. As if Claudius can feel thousands of glowing eyes pricking at his skin. Though not entirely perturbed, Claudius feels a wave of gooseflesh rise on his legs.

Breaking the silence with a question, Apothica stops. Claudius pauses with her, blinking in surprise. "Ye-" he starts to say to break the uncomfortable hush, but his companion speaks up again.

Rarely is Claudius intuitive enough to sense the emotions of others; but the storm and the silence has made their encounter so private, there is little else that he can focus on. Slowly, he sidles a little to the side, creating a few extra inches of space between the pair. Though he senses Apothica's discomfort, he has absolutely no idea what caused it so abruptly. Still only blinking stupidly, the stallion tries desperately to come up with something to say to soothe her; but for once in his life, he is at a loss for words.

Swallowing loudly, all Claudius did was fall back into step with Apothica once she started walking again. This time, though, he maintained a larger distance. Her discomfort made him uncomfortable, and it shows in the tenseness of his steps.

"I think that's a valiant objective," the chestnut answers, the cheeriness in his voice more forced than genuine. He keeps his gaze directly ahead, even when damp, dangling foliage brushes his face awkwardly.

"Have you ever done it? Achieved a better path?"