Nor would he wish that I suffer the burden of his absence. I cannot remain long in the country of the living - never shall I see old age, my hair touched silver. In choosing revenge upon the son of Priam, murderous Hector, in raising my spear to drink of his blood, I did too knock the arrow that shall fell me. Such is my fate, that which my mother warned me of. Yet still I wait for the arrow to fly from the bowstring and find my flesh.