Dawn Treader Valley Να πνίξεις όλα όσα οι άλλοι λεν μες τη σιωπή

I do.
But he, as he'd come to realize in these past days, was more than Florentia. More than his father, brother, his upbringing; more than a Roman.
For he was not Crispinus.
But perhaps our purpose does not lie in our birthplaces. The Gods must have put us here for a reason, right? he removes himself from her side if only to gesture with an outreach of a slender forelimb. Look at this, kyría mou. This, his gaze wanders from the reeds to the looming oaks that dapple the grasslands. The sun casts the tree bark in a soft orange; the shimmer of late summer cicadasong. This is yours, just as it is mine.