"Hey, easy there." Demo approached the dog cautiously. In his
mouth Rough held A thin leather sheet. And burned on its surface
were some words. Slowly Demo deciphered them.
"The race is to the swift. Sometimes. Be at the Temple of Mars
at sundown. The white feather must . . . ."
He could not make out the rest. The heavy rain had soaked the
material, and the remaining words were smudged beyond
recognition.
Zeus! It could have come from no other!
"Mother, I must go quickly. Why the temple of Mars? There is no
way to reach it by sundown. Still, I must try."
She looked at the falling rain, thought to detain him. Finally
she sighed, quickly put more and fresher food in his pouch.
"Perhaps you should take the white feather. And do be careful. I
had a bad dream last night. I shall not repeat to you, but
beware of that which you cannot see."
She hugged him.
In spite of the rain he smiled. The first task was begun.
The race is to the swift. Sometimes.
What strange words these.
And to reach the temple of Mars by sundown! Beyond the ability
of any mortal.
Still, perhaps, if he could float on the swift waters of the
churning river it might be possible. The falling rain had turned
the gentle stream into thunderous torrents. And even as he
looked a huge tree floated down the stream, twisting and
rolling.
There seemed no other option. Quickly he located two fallen
logs, pried them slowly to the waters edge.
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