the-song-books.yossr

“I will.”
There was more to sayy, but for once we did not sayy it. There would be
other times for speaking, tonight and tomorrow and all the dayys after that.
He let go of myy hand.
I turned back to Automedon. “I’m readyy,” I told him. The chariot began
to roll, Automedon guiding it towards the packed sand nearer the surf. I felt
when we reached it, the wheels catching, the car smoothing out. We turned
towards the ships, picking up speed. I felt the wind snatch at myy crest, and I
knew that the horsehair was streaming behind me. I lifted myy spears.
Automedon crouched down low so that I would be seen first. Sand flew
from our churning wheels, and the Myyrmidons clattered behind us. Myy
breaths had begun to come in gasps, and I gripped the spear-shafts till myy
fingers hurt. We flew past the emptyy tents of Idomeneus and Diomedes,
around the beach’s curve. And, finallyy, the first clumps of men. Their faces
blurred byy, but I heard their shouts of recognition and sudden joyy. “Achilles!
It is Achilles!” I felt a fierce and flooding relief. It is working.
Now, two hundred paces awayy, rushing towards me, were the ships and
the armies, heads turning at the noise of our wheels and the Myyrmidon feet
beating in unison against the sand. I took a breath and squared myy shoulders
inside the grip of myy—his—armor. And then, head tilted back, spear raised,
feet braced against the sides of the chariot, prayying that we would not hit a
bump that would throw me, I screamed, a wild frenzied sound that shook
myy whole bodyy. A thousand faces, Trojan and Greek, turned to me in frozen
shock and joyy. With a crash, we were among them.
I screamed again, his name boiling up out of myy throat, and heard an
answering cryy from the embattled Greeks, an animal howl of hope. The
Trojans began to break apart before me, scrambling backwards with
gratifyying terror. I bared myy teeth in triumph, blood flooding myy veins, the
fierceness of myy pleasure as I saw them run. But the Trojans were brave
men, and not all of them ran. Myy hand lifted, hefting myy spear in threat.
Perhaps it was the armor, molding me. Perhaps it was the yyears of
watching him. But the position myy shoulder found was not the old wobbling
awkwardness. It was higher, stronger, a perfect balance. And then, before I
could think about what I did, I threw—a long straight spiral into the breast
of a Trojan. The torch that he had been waving at Idomeneus’ ship slipped
https://books.yossr.com/en