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Odysseus ran through the dew-damp forest, and Polites followed.
He had always followed. He didn't mind it, not really. Even since he'd known him, the young prince had been swifter both of body and of mind. Forever a blur of motion, never for a moment standing still, each day he sprouted endless schemes, then took off to enact them, feet pounding like rain against the earth, beckoning his friends to follow. He never doubted that they would.
Sometimes, though, Polites wondered if he should.
Now, for instance. When yesterday the traveler had brought news of a boar, massive and formidable, a roaming, rampaging challenge, Odysseus’ eyes had lit with that torch-spark that signaled a plan was forming, a plan that he'd embark on before it was fully thought through. Eurylochus advised against it, as always - but Odysseus had barely heard. He'd clapped him on the back and grinned with that easy confidence that somehow banished practical misgivings, and Eurylochus had sighed and followed. Polites, too.
But now, a rustling in the brush, and Eurylochus almost slammed into Odysseus when the prince stopped short, a finger to his lips. Polites, panting behind them, did not stop in time, his momentum carrying him past his friends and straight into the clearing.
Into the side of the boar.
He felt its leathery hide before he realized what it was, the heat that emanated from its skin, felt its snorting breath on his scalp.
He froze.
He'd been flushed with exertion, but now, he paled, his chestnut skin taking on a greyish cast. The sweat cooled instantly on his skin, and he shivered. He could not move.
He wanted to turn his head, to see Odysseus, to catch his confident eyes and be reassured that his plan was in motion. But his gaze was tethered to the boar, to the flame-red eyes that seemed to fix him like a target. At once, he felt a fervent wish to vanish and reappear far away, perhaps upon the fishing-boat he'd hoped to take out today, before Odysseus had announced his plan. It would have been peaceful, that pleasant ache in his arms from rowing, the coolness of his fingers trailing in the water. But now, his heart careened against his ribs, and his breath came fast and shallow.
“Hey!”
At the shout, Polites breathed out relief. How had he forgotten? Odysseus would save them. He always had a plan. And if his plans did not always bear fruit? Well, they were fortunate - for he always had another.
The boar turned at Odysseus’ call, a snort of hot breath steaming from its nostrils as it whirled its bulk around faster than Polites had thought possible.
Odysseus charged, Eurylochus at his side, the greatsword he had only recently acquired shaking only slightly in his hands. But though Eurylochus crashed the sword against his side, succeeding only in scratching the thickened coat, Odysseus leapt directly in front of those spear-sharp horns. Tossing Polites a reassuring grin, he turned to the boar with eyes defiant. He’d discarded his bow and arrow on the forest floor, and Polites’ mind flashed with fear. But then, Odysseus took out his xiphos, and brandished it before the boar’s face. In a movement so swift Polites almost did not catch it, he fell into a squat, plunging the shortsword into the boar’s neck.
The boar roar-squealed in pain. The sound was high and shrill, a harpy’s shriek - not what Polites would have expected from such a massive beast. Blood fountained, but in its final throes, it swung its head.
Its tusk pierced right through Odysseus’ leg.
“Ody!”
Polites and Eurylochus shouted his name in unison, and Polites was no longer frozen, his heart crashing through his lungs as he launched himself toward Odysseus, falling to his knees at the prince's side. Tears of worry rose to his eyes, and he grabbed Odysseus’ hand. Eurylochus, his face frightened and grave, quickly checked the wound, then set off with a shout to fetch the guards.
“I'm all right, Polites,” Odysseus forced out, offering a reassuring smile through gritted teeth. “I told you I had a plan.”
“Your plan was to jump right in front of it?” Polites’ voice rose high in indignation.
“You did hear that it killed fifteen guards?”
“The guards don't have a divine patron,” Odysseus said, his voice perhaps more flippant than he meant. “I mean it, Polites, I'm fine. We probably just can't hunt for a couple weeks.”
Polites was not assuaged.
“You could have died!”
The tears escaped now, flooding down his cheeks, and he swiped at them, still flushed with anger.
Odysseus’ eyes softened, and he lifted a hand, laid it warm on Polites’ shoulder.
“Polites. What else could I do?”
Odysseus’ eyes were somber, sincerity etched into his features.
"I'd rather take the wound than have you hurt.”
Polites looked at Odysseus, then threw his arms around him, eliciting a surprised “oof” from the prince.
“You're such a fool sometimes,” he mumbled into his shoulder.
Odysseus laughed.
“Better to be a fool than lose a friend.”
Polites hugged him tighter. This was why he loved the prince - this was why, from the moment he'd seen him on the rocky shore, confidently launching an unsteady raft to rescue a flailing pup who'd ventured too far in the waves, he'd known he'd follow him forever.
“Odysseus?” he murmured.
Odysseus hummed in inquiry.
Polites released him, fixed on him a watery smile.
“Thank you.”