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Summary
Odysseus seemed to be everywhere: darting between the cyclops’ uncoordinated legs (had there been something in that wine? I swear, the single skin he’d given hadn’t been enough to leave such a large being so severely inebriated), catching a vulnerable crew mate by their collar to pull them out of range, feinting and stabbing and attacking and distracting. He didn’t explain his orders, but gave commands in brief, one or two word shouts, jerks of his chin and nods and flicks of his sword at the wrist. “Faster” and “further” and “back!” After ten years of fighting at his side, his intent was clear to us. He seemed every bit the (great) grandson of a god, the mentee of a second, the most recent in a line of clever kings and heroes, skilled enough to prove a proud heir even for his divine lineage.
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Polites has to break his promise to follow his friend.
Series
- Part 3 of Your Light