Chapter Text
When they finally reached the island, the trio had managed to disembark the ship without much more complaint from Eurylochus. Achilles personally thought that was a damn miracle. But regardless of what he thought, he, the Ithacan king, and his medic were treading the beach. The cold ocean water lapping at his ankles sent a shiver up his spine and caused the fin-like webbing of his ears—one of the few hereditary traits from his mother's side—to flare out.
He had missed the water.
The sloshing of feet wading in the tide-flooded beach next to him drew his gaze to the left. Polties was the closest, spear in hand and pouch tied to the rope around his waist. A little further along was Odysseus. The man looked tense and ready to defend, which Achilles thought was fair—this was an unknown island with unknown inhabitants; the people here could be dangerous. But the way he was clutching the pole and the wood creaking under pressure was concerning. Not that he cared, of course. He was only worried because it was important for their sharpest mind and reliable leader to think clearly. Achilles cleared his throat loudly, and the king jolted, his eyes snapping to the blonde before darting away just as quickly. He said nothing and began to lead the way into the unknown wilderness.
The island was overgrown; thick brush and heavy vines seemed to surround them on every side, requiring them to continuously hack away at the greenery to make even the smallest bit of progress. The further they got to the estimated location of the glow they had spotted, the deeper the frown on Odysseus' face until he looked like he was practically scowling at plant life for existing. His shoulders were tense, pulled up to his neck, and his eyes kept darting from left to right, left to right. Honestly, it was starting to get on Achille's nerves. The constant jolting at strange sounds, the way he kept pushing himself in front of them as if the warrior weren't invulnerable, and those damn dual-coloured eyes—one honey-brown and the other an unnerving shade of blue—kept darting every which way... When the triage of men ultimately reached a small clearing next to a clear-watered stream, Achilles was on the verge of snapping at the king.
He very likely would have if Polties hadn't come up next to them both, standing between them and the water Odysseus had managed to zone out on despite being so alert.
"...You can relax, my friend." His voice was so much softer than it had been mere hours ago. This wasn't the ecstatic, over-the-top boyish voice from before; this was something a lot softer, a lot smoother.
"Huh...?" Odysseus snapped out of his trance, head tilted up in such a way that he had to peer through his lashes to meet his friend's gaze.
...He reminded Achilles of a confused puppy. The thought burnt, his brows furrowing at the strangely affectionate comparison he had made. Odysseus was often compared to a wolf, but a dog? A puppy? Where the hell did that comparison come from?
THIS CHAPTER IS A WIP