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Deep breaths, my love…
Penelope’s voice sounded far away, so far away. There was a hand on his shoulder, was it hers? Did he dare hope it was hers? Or was it someone else?
He was not taking deep breaths at all. Or maybe he was. But if he was taking deep breaths, it did not feel like he was. Deep breaths were refreshing and slow. But Odysseus was getting about as much air as he had, being drowned by Poseidon on the shores of his home.