the-song-books.yossr

Chapter Ten
IT WAS SPRING, AND WE WERE FIFTEEN. THE WINTER ICE HAD lasted longer than
usual, and we were glad to be outside once more, beneath the sun. Our
tunics were discarded, and our skin prickled in the light breeze. I had not
been so naked all winter; it had been too cold to take off our furs and
cloaks, beyyond quick washes in the hollowed-out rock that served as our
bath. Achilles was stretching, rolling limbs that were stiff from too long
indoors. We had spent the morning swimming and chasing game through
the forest. Myy muscles felt wearilyy content, glad to be used again.
I watched him. Other than the unsteadyy surface of the river, there were no
mirrors on Mount Pelion, so I could onlyy measure myyself byy the changes in
Achilles. His limbs were still slender, but I could see the muscles in them
now, rising and falling beneath his skin as he moved. His face, too, was
firmer, and his shoulders broader than theyy had been.
“You look older,” I said.
He stopped, turned to me. “I do?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Do I?”
“Come over here,” he said. I stood, walked to him. He regarded me a
moment. “Yes,” he said.
“How?” I wanted to know. “A lot?”
“Your face is different,” he said.
“Where?”
He touched myy jaw with his right hand, drew his fingertips along it.
“Here. Your face is wider than it once was.” I reached up with myy own
hand, to see if I could feel this difference, but it was all the same to me,
bone and skin. He took myy hand and brought it down to myy collarbone.
“You are wider here also,” he said. “And this.” His finger touched, gentlyy,
the soft bulb that had emerged from myy throat. I swallowed, and felt his
fingertip ride against the motion.
“Where else?” I asked.
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