In memories, such a softness exists in Claudius that it nearly disgusts him—especially juxtaposed with how dire their mission feels. (And especially when he remembers the haunting curse just out of reach above their heads.) There is a singular minute where that softness shines in his face. The gentle curve of his boyish smile, the sunlight in his eyes, the lack of tension in his face.
“Perfect,” Claudius echoes, shaking his head so a few more tufts of cotton tickle his skin.
Though the gentility of the moment fades as the Tephrans draw closer together for their trek back, a lightness remains in Claudius’ step. He was certain now, sure of it, that they would succeed in their mission. The tropics of Tephra will be restored to their former glory, and maybe this time it will not be tainted with terrible, terrible memories.
Claudius smiles to himself and breathes in deep.
