Eyes like the sea. He'd heard them described that way more than once; poets always seemed to need a flowery explanation for such simple things. Few seemed to realize, though, just how

much his eyes resembled the waters of the Aegean. His eyes were not just blue, as some thought, they changed, sometimes greener sometimes grey, whatever color the sea was at that

moment. A more subtle reminder of the divinity his mother had passed down to him. Few were able to look in his eyes long enough to notice the change, though. Anyone that close was

normally on the end of his blade and thus had seconds to live. But Patroclus had noticed; he'd loved it. The younger man had taken much pleasure from predicting the day's weather when

Achilles first woke, staring into to those eyes. Those shining ever-blue eyes, like the sky on a spring day. Eyes that, only hours before, had closed for the final time; eyes he would never see

again.