The heat of battle pulsed through his veins, and Achilles, greatest of warriors, thrilled to it. Nothing in this world or the one beyond could compare to the feeling of total assurance he had in the midst of combat. He would look back on it with melancholy later, regretting the deaths, the blood that spilled over Troy's orange sand, but that was the way of it, the way of the world he lived in. Some things simply had to be done.
When he returned to camp, wiping sweat from his brow, Patroclus trotted up to him eagerly. "Cousin, you look like Death herself. Good fight today?"
"Yep." Achilles went into his tent and began washing the sweat and dust from his chiseled features.
Patroclus followed, ignoring the priestess sleeping a few meters away. "Are you tired?"
Pausing briefly, Achilles swept his hair out of his face. "To be honest, Patroclus, I've never felt more exhausted after a fight. They kept coming at me in waves, a neverending stream of foes. It was all I could do to keep abreast of them."
"Trojan infantry?"
"Nope."
"Some of their allies, then – the Phrygians?"
"Nope."
"Lyrnessians?"
"Nope." Flicking water from his hands, Achilles shamelessly stripped in front of his cousin, exchanging his rank battle garments for a soft black robe.
"The Trojan cavalry, then! Achilles – you didn't battle Hector himself, did you?"
"Nope."
Patroclus blinked in confusion as Achilles plunked himself down on a pile of pillows, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Well, who, then? Surely the kill count must have been great! You came back looking as though you had killed a thousand men! You must tell me – whose blood whetted your blade so profusely? What pursuit tired out your muscles?"
Achilles opened one eye, looking up at his kinsman. "Fangirls."
[Authoress's Notes:
[I'd apologise if I was sorry. But I'm not; I'm really not. I just couldn't help myself. ::grins:: Hoping other people can appreciate this.]