Achilles tore down an army in his blind red rage to avenge cherished Patroklos. Alexander hacked off his hair and built a golden pyre tall as the sky to give beloved Hephaestion his due. But what has Tanim for his own dearest Daren? In what form may his grief for the fallen companion find honor and release? There is no one to punish, to crucify, to slaughter; no one to share his mourning, bewail the dead, cover the city in black. There is no oracle from which to beg godhead or loyal followers to mix the lovers’ ashes and entomb them together. He is alone. Alone in his grief, alone in his anger, alone in his burden of memory and future. No monument to his mourning will last the ages, nor tales be told of a love so devoted that neither could bear the absence of the other. When Tanim dies he will take everything they were to his unmarked grave.

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