[The day goes by faster than he had thought it would, and Clara seems competent. In managing him, on top of the children that pull on her skirts and ask so many questions. But he gives out warnings, and looks sternly at the loudest ones from the corner of the room, letting her set the pace as he watches.

What she does, and what she doesn't do. The patience and the notes of genuine joy when the children show off terrible drawings or misread simple words. If she's faking it, she's better than he thought. Much better.

The silence of the stables is a balm on fraying nerves once she drags him out of the stuffy classroom and the warm scent of horses and hay is- good. Familiar. Eyeing Clara's hand, he takes her wrist in his hand, fingers reaching around her small wrist easily.]

It might.

[He wasn't made to follow orders, which must be why this is his sacrifice, because just hearing it from her pretty pink lips, makes him want to refuse. But of course he doesn't, there is nothing more important than the mission. Than undoing his regret and make his sacrifices worth it.

Fingers locked around her, the back of her hand resting gently against his palm.]

Do you feel anything? I've heard it described as- feeling confident. A surety in your own power. A call that you have to answer.