But this will do, for now.
You remember the day you first met Demodocus. It was ten years ago, at the start of the war. He was a child, back then, barely any peach fuzz on his top lip. He was skilled with the lyre but not with the sword; he almost got himself impaled on a Trojan spear during the very first skirmish. You shielded him with your own body and saved his life.
You still have the scar to remember that day by. You catch him looking at it now, the raised tissue near the top of your left shoulder.
"All right," you say. "Let's hear that song of yours."
Demodocus clears his throat and starts playing, his eyes filled with adoration. This is about you. It's all about you.
Sing in me, Muse, of the praised…