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What is to become of my city, my home? I fear for my son, I fear for my family. My Hector, my defender, has perished as his fate had been foretold. Before, a prophecy spoke of the fall of Troy; is that to happen too?
The morph of Hectors character, from defender to offensive warrior, has happened before my eyes, before his death. The change of Achilles mortality has cocooned from mortal to his appearance of being immortal back to his look of mortality. Some gods have helped, others took to the side lines; but most have just watched from above as if they were just simply watching a game of chess, or that of a chase of cat and mouse.
Apollo has halted my visions ever since Hector had returned home, for I know longer have any other insights than those of my own eyes. There is still a rock at the bottom of my throat, and I fear that it will not dissipate before the cruel Achaeans do.
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