He picked it up gently,
reverently.
What to do?
What to do? "This is madness. I am dreaming. Death and imps!
Goddesses and Gods. What has happened today? Can it be real!" He
looked around at the forest, at the sky. All was calm, normal.
Except for one thing.
In his hand he held a white feather.
Reluctantly he continued his hunt. There must be food for his
mother and himself. In spite of himself, because of the day's
events, his thoughts strayed.
He blushed again as he thought of the beautiful Goddess. "Can I
return to my hut, live as a simple hunter, having seen her?"
"No! As Zeus has spoken, I shall return and await his command.
After all, how difficult can be a few little chores?"
He thought he saw the imp dancing through the bushes, chortling
in glee.
Suddenly he tossed away the white feather. Even as it floated
down the side of the mountain he took up his weapons, returned
to the hunt.
"How foolish can I be," he muttered to himself. "Even if it
were real. I to wed a Goddess! It cannot be!"
Shadows were lengthening, soon night would fall. Nights on the
high mountain are cold and forlorn. Already the sun, hidden by
the storm clouds, neared the horizon. The sky, an angry red,
peaked through rents in the dark clouds. Large drops of rain
pelted him, cold with the hint of hail.
Yet, swiftly, the body of the storm had swept by. The remaining
clouds drifted high above, each in its solitary domain.
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