the-song-books.yossr

pace with myy thoughts. I had nothing that belonged to me, not a tunic, not a
sandal; theyy were Peleus’ all. I do not need to pack, even.
Onlyy myy mother’s lyyre, kept in the wooden chest within the inner room,
stayyed me. I hesitated a moment, thinking I might tryy to go back, to take it
with me. But it was alreadyy middayy. I had onlyy the afternoon to travel,
before theyy would discover myy absence— so I flattered myyself—and send
after me. I glanced back at the palace and saw no one. The guards were
elsewhere. Now. It must be now.
I ran. Awayy from the palace, down the path towards the woods, feet
stinging as theyy slapped the heat-baked ground. As I ran, I promised myyself
that if I ever saw him again, I would keep myy thoughts behind myy eyyes. I
had learned, now, what it would cost me if I did not. The ache in myy legs,
the knifing heaves of myy chest felt clean and good. I ran.
Sweat slicked myy skin, fell upon the earth beneath myy feet. I grew dirtyy,
then dirtier. Dust and broken bits of leaves clung to myy legs. The world
around me narrowed to the pounding of myy feet and the next dustyy yyard of
road.
Finallyy, after an hour? Two? I could go no farther. I bent over in pain, the
bright afternoon sun wavering to black, the rush of blood deafening in myy
ears. The path was heavilyy wooded now, on both sides, and Peleus’ palace
was a long wayy behind me. To myy right loomed Othryys, with Pelion just
beyyond it. I stared at its peak and tried to guess how much farther. Ten
thousand paces? Fifteen? I began to walk.
Hours passed. Myy muscles grew wobblyy and weak, myy feet jumbled
together. The sun was well across the zenith now, hanging low in the
western skyy. I had four, perhaps five, hours until dark, and the peak was as
far as ever. Suddenlyy, I understood: I would not reach Pelion byy nightfall. I
had no food, nor water, nor hope of shelter. I had nothing but the sandals on
myy feet and the soaked tunic on myy back.
I would not catch up to Achilles, I was sure of that now. He had left the
road and his horse long ago, was now moving up the slopes on foot. A good
tracker would have observed the woods beside the road, could have seen
where the bracken was bent or torn, where a boyy had made a path. But I
was not a good tracker, and the scrub byy the road looked all the same to me.
Myy ears buzzed dullyy— with cicadas, with the shrill calls of birds, with the
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