Author's note: Again, special thanks to my friend and fellow writer Spiritblaze for being SO supportive of this story.
Achilles sat by his cousin's bedside and gently stroked his hair. After staying out for most of the night, combined with the fact that he wasn't sleeping well, the boy had now contracted a fever. Occasionally, Patroclus would screw his eyes shut and let out small, tortured whimpers, his mind tortured by fever-fueled dreams.
Achilles was startled out of his thoughts when Patroclus let out a terrified scream and began to thrash and claw at his throat. Small, crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his throat, and blood began to stain his fingers.
Without thinking, (or caring) about his own safety, Achilles grabbed the boy and trapped his arms against his chest. Knowing that it would be futile to try to wake Patroclus, all that Achilles could do was hold the child until the storm passed. After a while, the boy's struggles died down and he settled into a peaceful sleep, laying his head against the older warrior's chest.
Patroclus walked aimlessly along the small path, letting his mind wander and feeling the warm sun on his face. Achilles was in a meeting and Patroclus had gotten bored of listening to the politics.
Also, three days of being sick had caused him to go a little stir crazy. Suddenly, a loud scream, like that of a wounded animal jarred him back into reality. Hearing the noise again, Patroclus sprinted up the path. The noise led him to the pasture near the stables.
It was then that he saw it, a sleek black stallion with eyes like rubies was standing in the corner of the pasture. Every time one of the warriors would try to go near it, the horse would rear up and let out a horrible scream.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Patroclus approached the fence and watched.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, looking up, he saw Eudorus looking down at him, smiling.
"Magnificent isn't he," Eudorus said, "it's too bad that no one can get near him, he'd make a great war steed."
"What's his name?" signed Patroclus.
"Arsen," said Eudorus, "Atheros bought him from a farmer in Mycenae. The poor animal had been abused so badly that he could barely stand. See that scar on his side?"
Patroclus nodded.
"The man slashed him with a sword a few days before, it was infected when he got here." Eudorus continued, "We managed to treat all the physical wounds just not the mental ones."
Patroclus stared sadly at the poor animal. Then suddenly, he slipped under the fence and began to walk towards the terrified steed. The animal snorted and flared its nostrils, backing farther and farther into the corner.
Stopping a few feet away, Patroclus held out his hand and stood stock still. After a few moments, Arsen took a few hesitant steps toward the boy. Reaching out, Patroclus gently stroked the horse's muzzle, silently saying, "It's alright, you're safe now, no harm will come to you, I promise."
