"In a battle, what would you save first, me or one of the horses?" Hektor asks.
Their horses trot along the banks of the Scamander; she rides pale, fickle Lampos, who has always been her special favorite, and Hektor is seated on Aethon, who is usually so much less well-behaved. Perhaps Aethon longs for the sight of the sea as she does; more likely, she thinks with a private smile, it is her husband's skill with horses.
Then she considers her husband's question. "Which one is closer, you or the horse?"
"We're equally distant."
"Do I have an equal chance of saving both, too?'
At his nod, she smiles. "I'd save the horse, of course."
"You could have pretended to think about it," he says, his hand over his heart as if he has been stabbed with a spear.
"Surely my husband can save himself?"
He laughs, and the brightness of the sound pleases her. He's been so serious lately; the delegation from the Lycians has been occupying him. She's glad to lighten his spirits. Besides, she's missed teasing him; Ilium is not Thebe, and here she cannot be so light and free with him unless they are alone--and he has been so very busy.
"If you cannot defend yourself, I'd still go for the horse," she says, flashing him an impish smile. "I'd reach you faster on the back of Aethon or Lampos, and we'd ride down whoever it is that threatens you."
Amusement flashes in his eyes, and then he bows his head. "My wife is ever the tactician, even with my life."
Laughing, she urges Lampos into a run, and his hooves thunder; as always, he loves to run. Hektor brings Aethon to a gallop as well, and they exchange looks. Then they race their way along the banks of the Scamander, following the flowing river to the wine-dark sea.
In the years of grief and glory to come, she will remember this: her heart beating fast and her breathless laughter as she rides into the wind with Hektor behind her, his hand in hers at the end of their race, the horses on the shore, the sunset blazing when they turn their horses toward home. She will remember peace, and she will remember the roar of the sea.
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Their horses trot along the banks of the Scamander; she rides pale, fickle Lampos, who has always been her special favorite, and Hektor is seated on Aethon, who is usually so much less well-behaved. Perhaps Aethon longs for the sight of the sea as she does; more likely, she thinks with a private smile, it is her husband's skill with horses.
Then she considers her husband's question. "Which one is closer, you or the horse?"
"We're equally distant."
"Do I have an equal chance of saving both, too?'
At his nod, she smiles. "I'd save the horse, of course."
"You could have pretended to think about it," he says, his hand over his heart as if he has been stabbed with a spear.
"Surely my husband can save himself?"
He laughs, and the brightness of the sound pleases her. He's been so serious lately; the delegation from the Lycians has been occupying him. She's glad to lighten his spirits. Besides, she's missed teasing him; Ilium is not Thebe, and here she cannot be so light and free with him unless they are alone--and he has been so very busy.
"If you cannot defend yourself, I'd still go for the horse," she says, flashing him an impish smile. "I'd reach you faster on the back of Aethon or Lampos, and we'd ride down whoever it is that threatens you."
Amusement flashes in his eyes, and then he bows his head. "My wife is ever the tactician, even with my life."
Laughing, she urges Lampos into a run, and his hooves thunder; as always, he loves to run. Hektor brings Aethon to a gallop as well, and they exchange looks. Then they race their way along the banks of the Scamander, following the flowing river to the wine-dark sea.
In the years of grief and glory to come, she will remember this: her heart beating fast and her breathless laughter as she rides into the wind with Hektor behind her, his hand in hers at the end of their race, the horses on the shore, the sunset blazing when they turn their horses toward home. She will remember peace, and she will remember the roar of the sea.