Since your arrival at mount Pelion, long intellectual discussions have become the staple of you and Achilles’ relationship. The two of you will lie on your backs in the grass, looking up at the skies, talking about one thing after another until there are no more words left to say. Or in your shared cot in the cave, noses practically pressed together, speaking youthfully-acquired knowledge into one another’s mouths until you both fall asleep. Such is life, when there are only two people on the planet who truly understand one another.

It is another one of those days. You and Achilles sit in the river, bathing, washing your tunics. Conversing. Indulging in the naive wisdom you have accumulated over the years. Achilles says something sweet to you, as is how it usually goes. You call him an angel. He laughs beneath his words.

“You dishonor the real angels by calling me so,” he says. He wrings out his tunic and dunks it back in the water. “I am no angel. Merely a man.”