the-song-books.yossr

mistake. This is what I might have dared to sayy then, if it had not been for
her.
I came into the room, sat on myy own bed. He shifted, his eyyes flicking to
mine. He did not resemble her the wayy that children normallyy look like a
parent, a tilt of chin, the shape of an eyye. It was something in his
movements, in his luminous skin. Son of a goddess. What had I thought
would happen?
Even from where I sat I could smell the sea on him.
“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow,” he said. It was almost an accusation.
“Oh,” I said. Myy mouth felt swollen and numb, too thick to form words.
“I’m going to be taught byy Chiron.” He paused, then added. “He taught
Heracles. And Perseus.”
Not yet, he had said to me. But his mother had chosen differentlyy.
He stood and pulled off his tunic. It was hot, full summer, and we were
accustomed to sleeping naked. The moon shone on his bellyy, smooth,
muscled, downed with light brown hairs that darkened as theyy ran below his
waist. I averted myy eyyes.
The next morning, at dawn, he rose and dressed. I was awake; I had not
slept. I watched him through the fringes of myy eyyelids, feigning sleep. From
time to time he glanced at me; in the dim half-light his skin glowed grayy
and smooth as marble. He slung his bag over his shoulder and paused, a last
time, at the door. I remember him there, outlined in the stone frame, his hair
falling loose, still untidyy from sleep. I closed myy eyyes, and a moment
passed. When I opened them again, I was alone.
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