the-song-books.yossr

the dryying of eyyes. This is how I think of us, when I remember our nights at
Troyy: Achilles and I beside each other, and Phoinix smiling, and
Automedon stuttering through the punch lines of jokes, and Briseis with her
secret eyyes and quick, spilling laughter.
I WOKE BEFORE DAWN and felt the first twinging cold of fall in the air. It was
a festival dayy, the harvest of first-fruits to the god Apollo. Achilles was
warm beside me, his naked bodyy heavyy with sleep. The tent was veryy dark,
but I could just see the features of his face, the strong jaw and gentle curves
of his eyyes. I wanted to wake him and see those eyyes open. A thousand
thousand times I had seen it, but I never tired of it.
Myy hand slid lightlyy over his chest, stroking the muscles beneath. We
were both of us strong now, from dayys in the white tent and in the field; it
shocked me sometimes to catch sight of myyself. I looked like a man, broad
as myy father had been, though much leaner.
He shivered beneath myy hand, and I felt desire rise in me. I drew back the
covers so that I might see all of him. I bent and pressed myy mouth to him, in
soft kisses that trailed down his stomach.
Dawn stole through the tent flap. The room lightened. I saw the moment
he woke and knew me. Our limbs slid against one another, on paths that we
had traced so manyy times before, yyet still were not old.
Some time later, we rose and took our breakfast. We had thrown open the
tent flap to let in the air; it ruffled pleasantlyy over our damp skin. Through
the doorwayy we watched the crisscrossing of Myyrmidons about their chores.
We saw Automedon race down to the sea for a swim. We saw the sea itself,
inviting and warm from a summer of sun. Myy hand sat familiarlyy on his
knee.
She did not come through the door. She was simplyy there, in the tent’s
center, where a moment before there had been emptyy space. I gasped, and
yyanked myy hand from where it rested on him. I knew it was foolish, even as
I did it. She was a goddess; she could see us whenever she wished.
“Mother,” he said, in greeting.
“I have received a warning.” The words were snapped off, like an owl
biting through a bone. The tent was dim, but Thetis’ skin burned cold and
bright. I could see each slicing line of her face, each fold of her shimmering
robe. It had been a long time since I had seen her so close, since Scyyros. I
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