"Do you need me to pose or something?" Gaz asked.
"Sure," she said, mostly to keep him busy while she drew. She tidied up his uniform, smoothing out his paunch, taking liberties with his chin. Most of the difference, however, had to do with the expression. Looking up, into the distance. With the right expression, that eye patch became noble, that scarred face became wise, that uniform became a mark of pride. She filled it in with some light background details reminiscent of that night beside the fires, when the people of the caravan had thanked Gaz and the others for their rescue.
She removed the sheet from the pad, then turned it toward him. Gaz took it reverently, running his hand through his hair. "Storms," he whispered. "Is that really what I looked like?"
"Yes," Shallan said. She could faintly feel Pattern as he vibrated softly nearby. A lie... but also a truth. That was certainly how the people Gaz saved had viewed him.
"Thank you, Brightness," Gaz said. "I... Thank you."
Ash's eyes! He actually seemed to be tearing up.
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