Quickly he rushed to the spring, examined his countenance.
Cronus had relented.
He heard a distant rumble of thunder, glanced anxiously to the
sky.
A voice, strong and yet soft, reached his ears.
"Well done, my son." He knew the sojourn had ended.
And then he heard the words again. "Well done, my son." and
felt a hand shaking him.
"Yes, well done. The firewood you were to gather, where is it?
Do you know the sun is near its zenith, and you still lie abed."
"Yes, mother, I shall fetch it quickly."
He shook his head. Only a dream? He looked at his hand, the
hand of youth. As he sat on the edge of his bed his foot brushed
an object.
Absentmindedly he reached down, picked it up.
He found himself gazing on the beauty of Venus, a smile on her
face. The lips seemed to move, and expressed in a voice all
softness the gratitude shining in her eyes.
He smiled. No!
No! Not a dream.
As a child I nourished him. His body I made strong, agile; his
mind, quick. Strength I gave him, and the will to bear pain
without flinching. Almost, eternal life. But that was not to be.
Ceres was thinking to herself.
The voice I heard while praying - It is, I am sure, his voice.
The time is coming when this tragedy shall end. In some manner,
unknown to me, Fate will bring the paths together.
Ah, yet how powerful is the enemy! Zeus himself alone is more
powerful.
No, not true. Moira has mapped the path of each, be they God or
man.
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