Forbidden Gods
The End of All Things
Weather was raw and cold. Seeing the form and color of the clouds drawing south, Paris suspected a storm will be striking hard right over him. Perfect! Just when things couldn't get worse. He acted rationally, only bringing what was on his back and a lame horse that will soon collapse on the ground. Paris knew who he was going to; Achilles, but had no idea where he lives or even stands at this point in time. Right after he left, Paris rode his horse hard out of the city. Now that he was well in the outskirts, he wished that he would have stopped for something.
His horse often fumbled, losing the strength to walk under his legs. White foamed out of its mouth and nostrils, which wasn't a good sign. He was just as weak as the animal under him. The only thing supporting him from falling off was the hold of the horse's neck. Apollo's shinning face was lost in the clouds and wind stirred, kicking up dust slapping Paris' face. Slowly all signs of control began to lose itself in Paris' body. "Keep going... there is hope over these hills." Paris continually talked to himself. There wasn't anything there in the elements that could lift his spirits.
The scenery was barren and dry, quenching for the coming storm. Nothing that carried height except the hills before him could keep Paris company. He was alone. For the first time in so long. The prince wasn't use to this exchange. Normally he always had someone to crawl himself into for shelter. His mother, father, Hector, Helen; even Achilles was there when needed. Not long after Helen took her life, the warrior came in perfect timing to comfort Paris. And even when he was gone, his faithful servants like Claudius, or Hailie, even Agamemnon was there before he saw behind his dark mask. But now, all there was left was this dying horse that would soon fall under him and leave him with nothing but his own skin to carry.
The two were now at the climax of the first hill and dropping down into the valley. He mumbled something to himself so soft under that gasp of breath, not even he could have heard his own voice. The strength in his fingers loosened after every step. It wasn't even a yard from where they stood to the bottom below. The roan slowly knelt down peacefully, accepting its death and rolling on to its side; trapping Paris' leg to the ground. He didn't care that he couldn't get up, or that his only source of travel faded out. Images of his life flashed by, and those were the only thing Paris saw before his eyes fell shut. Clouding his mind and direction into the abyss. The last thing that he said was only responding to the rustle of sound that was heard close by. "The storm is on me now..." And then he could feel his life slip away. No louder then the breathing of a mouse, or the whispering of trees.
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