Sublime

I do not mean this as the poets mean it: a virtue to be broken by the story’s end, or else upheld at greatest cost. Nor do I mean that he was foolish or guileless. I mean that he was made only of himself, without the dregs that clog the rest of us.

packed. I have often felt like the poor mortal horse, Jumper, harnessed alongside the immortal horses of Achilles: like him, I struggled to keep up, always knowing that the original poem, my model and constant companion, would always gallop ahead.

When you have offered

your libation and have prayed, as is right,

hand your comrade the cup of honey wine,

so he may pour out his libation, too,

for he looks like someone who offers prayers

to the immortals.

All men need the gods.

The kind of love that offers its life so easily, so stupidly, is always the love that is not returned.

Reina already knew each of these works to contain similar themes: humans granted immortality by the gods for their greatness. (A reflection of a general, species-long aversion to the unknown abyss beyond death.)