[Her screams crash over him as do waves which, when whipped into frenzy by a storm, violently pound the beach, but he is fast losing blood and with it he feels himself fade from the world of the living one fragment at a time. His ears hear as if from beneath the water, in which all sounds dissolve and float in pieces suspended, strange music made from a familiar voice. His lips no longer form words but only incoherent groans that drag against the dust. His eyes see only dark shapes that bleed together as if made of melting wax. His thoughts are naught but a tangled string of names divine, his prayers breaking down along with his body.
Almighty Zeus...bears the aegis...Athena...third-born of the gods...
From the desert shines forth the beacon of Achilles' shield, still glorious although fallen, which catches the light of the sun upon its broad face and tosses it back in shimmering waves. It is that that might draw Olivia's eyes as frantically she casts them about the endless landscape, but the lion cub's clue shall be the pungent odor of blood which hangs thickly upon him.
Achilles is aware of Saffron only through faint impressions, the crunch of the earth beneath his swift paws, the warmth of his muzzle pressed into Achilles' cheek. He appears as something cast to the ground and left behind, an overripe fruit smashed into the dust, the skin split open, the flesh bruised and beaten to a pulp. From the flank that faces upward flows dark red blood that stains both his rent tunic and the ground upon which he lies. His shield remains fastened around his forearm and leans against his body in a last effort to protect him, although far too late.]
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Almighty Zeus...bears the aegis...Athena...third-born of the gods...
From the desert shines forth the beacon of Achilles' shield, still glorious although fallen, which catches the light of the sun upon its broad face and tosses it back in shimmering waves. It is that that might draw Olivia's eyes as frantically she casts them about the endless landscape, but the lion cub's clue shall be the pungent odor of blood which hangs thickly upon him.
Achilles is aware of Saffron only through faint impressions, the crunch of the earth beneath his swift paws, the warmth of his muzzle pressed into Achilles' cheek. He appears as something cast to the ground and left behind, an overripe fruit smashed into the dust, the skin split open, the flesh bruised and beaten to a pulp. From the flank that faces upward flows dark red blood that stains both his rent tunic and the ground upon which he lies. His shield remains fastened around his forearm and leans against his body in a last effort to protect him, although far too late.]