His first thought is that this is a very unpleasant dream.

His second thought is that he does not usually realise dreams are dreams while they're going on and also he is in quite a lot of pain.

His third thought is to remember the fucking snake. That bitch.

His fourth thought is best summarised as a howl of pain and rage. And they took his horses.

He does not have a fifth thought as he returns to Hypnos immediately after.

The ship that abandoned him (and took his horses) does not make any attempt to turn around. It disappears into the horizon while he is indisposed in the land of oblivion.

His ankle is kind enough to wake him just as dusk begins to fall. At least the pain is useful? And also killing him?

Yeah fuck that. "Ow," he complains to, uh, literally no one. Then he opens his eyes and looks around to take the island in more properly.

The island had been one they'd stopped at in order to get fresh water, so it's likely got that going for it, at least. It's definitely a proper island, not a glorified sandbar. There are trees, and it sounds like there are at least some birds on this island, for game. If he'd like to find or make some arrows that haven't been dipped in very deadly hydra blood and would therefore actually be safe for eating.

Game has to wait until he can figure out whether he'll even be able to survive the snake bite. Water is a higher priority. How bad is the wound, can he stand at all?

If he puts as little weight on it as possible, but it really hurts. It's looking uncomfortably swollen. Also yellow, it's looking very yellow.

...okay, change of plans, he'll see if he can suck the venom out himself, at least a little bit, before he goes looking for water.

It's probably been long enough that that will not do anything but.

He does not get a mouth full of venom! He does get a mouth full of pus, though! It is even more disgusting than it sounds! This is probably a step in the right direction, though, this looks like it's helping with the swelling.

Okay? Okay. Okay. That... is probably better than nothing. He has put his mouth in much more disgusting places and put much more disgusting things in his mouth, this doesn't really compare, so he'll keep doing that for a bit.

Eventually the injury drains a mixture of blood and pus, and a little more eventually after that it's just bleeding. That seems like something of an improvement; it certainly hurts less, now. It's less swollen, too.

Some water to wash all that yuck off will probably be useful. He'll try the walking thing again, mostly resting his weight on his good leg and hands, finding places to hold onto—trees and rocks and the like—wherever he can. He's not above just crawling for a bit if he has to.

He can in fact walk! It still hurts a bunch, but it hurts less than it did! Progress.

It might not be immediately obvious where the fresh water on this island is, except for the fact that there are all of these tracks left by his former comrades. There is a very large set of them going back and forth in a very purposeful direction. Water is probably that way.

Yeah he has any sense and follows those tracks as best he can. Though his vision darkens a few times, he stops to catch his breath and will himself awake whenever that happens.

Onwards.

Onwards!

The tracks lead deeper into the trees for a while, and then down into what looks like more of a glorified muddy hole than a spring. There's a pool of very muddy water, if he'd like some.

...is this better than seawater? He's not sure. But he's come all this way.

No tracks leading anywhere else, perchance?

Nope. Just the very muddy water. It looks like it might have been less messy at one point, but has been dug up in order to get at as much water as possible.

Well.

He's here anyway.

He'll try to use his hands to sieve as much of the mud out as possible then with the rest of the muddy water he will try to rinse off the disgust out of his mouth, spitting it away from the muddy hole. After doing this a few times, he will wash his wound—damn Hera to the pits of Hades that bitch is going to get what's coming to her fuck fuck fuck-

—okay. He's okay. It just hurts like a motherfucker but he's okay.

Mostly.

He should probably drink some of that water. He leans closer to it and tries to sieve the mud away again but the movement causes his pressure to drop and he's again out like a light.

Plop. Into the mud goes the wayward Spartan.

When he next wakes, he is.... no longer in the mud. He's back on the beach. There's some sort of seaweed wrap... thing... around his injured ankle. Next to him is a ceramic pot of some kind, filled with clean, fresh water.

What.

.....he only "what"s for a second though because water and he is very careful not to drop a single drop because he wants all of it and he mostly manage to not drop a single drops so he's satisfied. "Thank you!" he calls out loud, raising the ceramic pot to the air, hoping whoever did this is still around.

No reply. They might be around, or they might not be. It's very mysterious.

No looking at gift horses in the mouth (until he's back home and can inspect said gift horse thoroughly to see whether it's worth bringing to battle).

How does his ankle feel?

It still hurts a bit, but it hurts less. The seaweed wrap thing looks like it's doing its job.

Okay! Maybe he is not in fact meeting Hades today! ...if it even is the same day. It might well not be.

What other signs has his mysterious benefactor left him?

It looks like it's probably the next day. Light's returned to the sky, and it had been getting dark when he collapsed into the mud.

The beach around him is an absolute mess. It looks like something vaguely the size of a small man was dragging itself, and also him, across the beach, then somewhat ineptly tried to disguise this fact and gave up midway through.

It also looks like someone made some kind of sacrifice here. There's a little bit of stray blood on the sands, and flowers that look like they'd been carefully arranged around whatever (small) animal had been sacrificed. There's no sign of a fire, nor of most of the animal itself, but its bones and entrails have been carefully gathered into a pile. Next to the pile is some wood that looks like it was directly ripped from the trees it came from. Uh. Actually, now that he looks at it, that.... looks like a hint. He might want to finish the ritual his mysterious benefactor started and burn those properly.

...okay, whoever this is saved his life, he's fine doing weird things he's requested. He's no stranger to making fire in less-than-ideal conditions, and despite that wood not being of great quality and the proximity to the salt air and—they're kinda damp?—he can improvise and get some other drier branches and a stone or something he could use to get a spark going and fire!

Fire! The entrails and bones of the animal (identified as some kind of fish, now that he has a closer look at the bones) look good enough to be sacrificed to.... whichever god his mysterious benefactor was making this sacrifice to. So he should probably just get to burning those. Without knowing which god it's to. He could try to make it a sacrifice to a god of his choice, but that might offend whichever one this ritual was actually meant for, so uh. It's probably just better to burn them and intend to be the instrument of his benefactor's will instead of meddling and possibly getting another god's ire.

Yeah and he's had his share of gods anyway. For now.

He burns the fish. He is not so weak that he will be defeated by the remains of fish, even if it is very very large fish like this one.

The remains of the fish burn just fine, and no gods or snakes pop out of the ocean to make their wrath known!

It doesn't look like his mysterious benefactor left him anything else. Though.... hm. They'd moved his bow and arrows away from him while he'd been unconscious. There's clearly a trail of his benefactor dragging themselves a reasonable distance away, and leaving Herakles's bow and arrows there in the sand. Looks like they've been moved back next to him, though, so the intention clearly hadn't been to steal them, just to keep them out of reach.

...okay. Weird. But okay.

And now he's really hungry. Has the mysterious benefactor left him a fish he can actually eat?

Not that he can see. Apparently he's been left to figure out food on his own.

That's still eons better than he was before so he's not complaining. He can fashion himself arrows and go looking for game.

Larger game isn't making itself readily apparent, but that doesn't mean it's not present on the island. It would just take time and work to catch. If he's feeling impatient, or if he'd like to show off his archery skills, he's free to shoot at some of the doves and pigeons, they're reasonably numerous.

He's mostly hungry and expects it will be better to start off with small game so he can recover any energy before going after big stuff, yeah.

His makeshift arrows are a little bit wonky to shoot, or maybe he's just tired and injured and hungry and that's dulling his shooting skills a little bit. Which is to say, he shoots at several pigeons, misses two entirely, neatly kills one, and clips another that needs to be given a cleaner death up close, but it is in the end dead all the same. Maybe this isn't quite up to his standards of fantastic feats of archery, but it's still food. Not a lot of it, but more than he had before.

He does not have that large an ego; his pride is intact. And he can work with dead pigeons to get literally any food into himself.

He can make a new fire to cook his pigeons, return to the firepit he made earlier to see if it's still salvagable, or he could eat them raw here and now if he's feeling really impatient.

Old firepit is better. Maybe he'll meet his mysterious benefactor there.

The old firepit hasn't spluttered out yet! It looks like it could use some more fuel, but it's still warm and can be stoked back to a proper fire without too much trouble. No mysterious benefactor is present, though it does look like they were here while he was away. The pot is missing, and in their place are a couple of fish and one large shell that has a few gulps of water in it. Not as much as the pot, obviously, but maybe that was taken away to be refilled.

This time his mysterious benefactor made little to no attempt to disguise its tracks. It looks like it dragged itself out of the sea, then dragged itself back into the sea once it was done dropping off the fish and new water receptacle and retrieving the pot.

...the sea? They swam here??

He can start cooking stuff—fish included, "Thank you!" he shouts out to the sea—and seeing if maybe he'll catch a glimpse of said benefactor out in the water at some point during that.

There is no answer, and almost no sign of anyone while he's making his meal, but at some point while it looks like he's looking somewhere else...

There is just a tiny hint of red-orange near the surface of the water, floating just a little too gracefully on the waves. He could, if he looked, see a pair of eyes peeking out of the sea.

Oh! He's looking. He waves in their direction!

Nope hint of red-orange is gone now.

...huh. Maybe whoever that was had somewhere to go very fast for some reason.

Well. He'll keep preparing his food and eat.

Nothing disturbs his meal. There is no sign of any further hints of red-orange on the waves.

"Meal" is perhaps an overstatement but honestly he's ravenous.

He finishes eating, and... decides to inspect his ankle again now that nothing very pressing is happening.

It hasn’t turned black and started threatening to fall off, which is probably a minor victory. His veins are a dark blue-black, but the swelling isn’t too bad, and it doesn’t look like it’s filled with pus again. So... progress?

Progress! And hopefully it won't spread to the rest of him, either!

He examines the bandage more closely. Is it... just a bandage? He thinks not, unless it's some magic bandage.

It... looks like just a bandage, yeah. Made of seaweed. If it has any magical properties they're not making themselves apparent.

Well. Maybe Hera's snake just doesn't have very powerful venom.

That's actually kinda hilarious. He laughs to himself, then sighs. He's got food and water, although he's still depending on his mysterious benefactor for the latter. He should probably not walk much but he has ever met himself and he's sure he'll die of boredom if he just sits still there all day. Maybe what he should do is locate cover in case it rains or something.

There are the trees! Those are available to hide under, if it rains. If he'd like something a bit more sturdy, he'll need to make it or make a more concentrated effort to search this island for shelter.

That sounds like such a terrible idea. "I don't suppose you have an axe?" he calls out to the sea.

Silence! Silence is his only answer.

Shame. He supposes he'll have to stay here by himself and hope it doesn't rain. At least until his leg is sufficiently well that he can afford to go out walking and fashion himself his own axe.

He is entirely free to continue to sit on this beach dubiously by himself but definitely without an actual conversation partner. At least it's the dry season, rain's unlikely to happen for months. So he's got that going for him.

...

Is his leg better yet? No, it's still about the same. What about now? ... Still no.

What would he like to do with his copious free time?

"Come on at least introduce yourself or I'm going to die of boredom here!" he says, flopping back onto the sand. And now the sand got into his clothes, which are also kinda rancid but it's not like he can wash himself anywhere, not while his leg isn't better anyway.

Augh!

His mysterious benefactor apparently declines to introduce themselves, because there is no answer except the sound of waves against the shore.

He sighs, shuts his eyes, and attempts to take a nap.

...but he has to shield them first so he drags himself to somewhere with shade and then covers his face with the fold of his elbow for further protection from the sun.

His afternoon nap is undisturbed.

While his mysterious benefactor does not come anywhere near him, when he next wakes and/or gets too bored to stay prone with his eyes closed, it's obvious they were around. The pot has been returned, refilled with more water. Some more fish have also been laid out, next to the pot.

...red-orange flicker in the water perchance?

Nope, not a sign of one.

Well. Okay. Water is good, and he's not particularly hungry right now so he'll leave the fish for later. His bow and arrows are still right where he left them, next to where he was lying half-awake, so he shakes some of the sand off his clothes and half-walks half-crawls over to the water to drink it.

He looks down at the trees' shadows to gauge the time and then down at his ankle again to check how well it's doing after however much time he's been there.

It looks like it's been about three, maybe four hours since he first started attempting to nap. He has several more hours until dusk will start to fall.

His ankle is... well, it's not much worse. But it's definitely not better. It hurts more, and it's starting to swell again.

Ugh. "You know, it'd be useful to know where you got this water," he says conversationally as if it was not that important. "Especially because I'd love to wash my ankle in anything less likely to kill me than seawater or mud. Although I suppose the mud will do in a pinch."

".... So help me, if you wash it off in mud, I will actually just leave you lying in it, next time. Seawater is better by far," grumbles a very soft feminine voice.

"—hey! You are around!" he exclaims, looking in the direction the voice came from.

He was not expecting a woman but whatever, he wasn't expecting to be alive either.

Nope, apparently he is not allowed to look for her, because there's a splash and she's disappeared back into the water. ... There's a suspicious bit of floating woven kelp and what looks like some stray bits of mud, floating where her voice came from.

"Okay, okay, I won't look," he says, flopping back down onto the sand and shutting his eyes. "I am pretty sure if I tried to wash an open wound in seawater I'd lose the leg or worse," he observes, continuing his previous musings. "Mud, though, might have some of those curative herbs witches are always using. Better gamble by far."

There's another pause, but apparently she actually cannot resist correcting him, because:

".... No! No, that's not how mud or herbs work, at least the salt in the seawater would help keep it clean!"

"What about everything else in the saltwater, though?" He does not open his eyes.

"If you ask nicely, a nereid would likely chase away anything you might not want in an open, infected, and cursed-by-a-goddess leg wound. Mud holes do not have this quality, I do not know any nymphs that reside over mud holes, you'd be relying on sheer luck."

He takes a moment to mouth the words "ask nicely" in incredulity before retorting with, "Maybe you're close enough friends with nereids that you can ask that, but where I'm from they're as like to ignore a request as they are to poison me." Not literally. Probably. He has admittedly never personally asked any nereids for anything. But he's heard stories.

"Excuse me, nereids are a bunch of sweethearts who wouldn't poison a venomous snake if it bit them, if this is how you talk about them then no wonder they've never helped you. Have you even asked?"

"Not personally," he is unashamed to admit.

"Uh huh. And has anyone you personally know asked a nereid for something and been poisoned?"

"Not that either," he says, with what a trained ear might catch as some forced levity inserted into his voice. "Naiads did kidnap a very good friend of mine." The smile disappears from his face. "He might be dead now. Or not. So I am a little wary of asking nymphs for favours."

".... Okay, a reasonable precaution, but naiads are not nereids, would you also blame and insult Hestia for the things Hera does?"

"I did not blame nereids for anything, nor did I insult them, I merely said that asking them to clear water so I could wash my wound would not previously have occurred to me," he replies simply, his joviality all back. Then he gets to his feet (or mostly just the one foot) and starts limping towards the ocean, eyes still shut.

"It is in fact insulting to imply that a nereid would poison you," informs his mysterious benefactor, a little tartly. "Don't try and do something stupid like drink seawater and expect them to aid you, but every single nereid I've ever met—and that number is many, before you ask—has not meant anyone any permanent injury at all. Ever."

"Very well, I apologise for my poorly-thought-out joke," he says, grinning in the direction of the ocean that he still cannot see. "Might you instruct me on what one would do to ask nicely? Beautiful nereids, sea nymphs full of kindness and joy, I would request your aid in cleansing the water of whatever foul humours and toxins it might contain that I may clean my wound once more."

"That's the right sort of tone. Pretty things are more likely to draw their attention, so—songs, or flowers, or poetry if you know any that's not particularly bloodthirsty. They despise violence and bloodshed, tales of battles are likely to scare them off."

He has long since removed his shoes, so he notices when his toes reach the wet sand and halts his advance there, settling back down onto the ground. He crosses his legs, using his hands to carefully position his hurt ankle so that there is as little pressure on it as possible, then straightens his back and, eyes still closed, starts reciting:

"By waves haloed, immortal nereids!
Children of gods kind, I implore you,
Slay me not in this distress and anguish,
Ladies of beauty.

"Hither come as I wish for you to join me,
As from afar you hear my voice lamenting,
Hear and come, leaving your glorious patron's halls blue,

"Gliding the currents, true their aim,
Swift to the darksome earth their course directing,
Weaving the seas from deepest ocean,
Up through the waters.

"Quickly they bear you. Then you, O joyous nymphs,
All in laughter wreathed your faces immortal,
One of you shall bid me tell thee the cause of my suffering,
Why now I call you.

"What for my maddened heart I most was longing.
'Whom,' you cry, 'dost wish that sweet Persuasion
Now win over and lead to thy love, my Zotikos?
Who is it wrongs thee?

"'For, though now he flies, he soon shall follow,
Soon shall be giving gifts who now rejects them.
Even though he love not, soon shall he love thee
Even though thou wouldst not.'

"Come then now, dear nymphs, and release me
From my anguish. All my heart's desiring
Grant you now. Now too, and forevermore,
Be you my allies."*

The poem is meant to be sung along with a lyre, but lacking that he just sings and hums, and every now and then softly hits the sand or the pants of his legs following the rhythm. His eyes remain close throughout, but the cast of his face and the movement of his body could fool one into believing he was gazing upon the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. The poem dies down, and he hums it to its end, but his smile remains and he continues to sway lightly from side to side as if influenced by an unfelt wind.

* Adaptation of an English translation of Sappho's Hymn to Aphrodite.

There is a splash of sea water, accompanied by the soft and sweet sound of unfamiliar feminine laughter. Weighing on him as softly as a cool breeze, there is a feeling of something with just a little bit of power being present. A wave catches his ankle in a small tide of motion. Just above, on the uninjured skin of his calf, there is a faint wet touch of soft lips giving him a quick mischievous kiss. With another faint giggle, the sea’s water recedes, and the presence is gone.

He still does not open his eyes, but he grins more widely. "That was nice. Thank you!" he calls out.

There’s a little happy splash from the sea that might be an answer, or might be imagined.

His mysterious benefactor is completely silent, of both praise and critique.

"So now can I wash the wound properly, do you think?" he asks, turning his head in the direction the mysterious benefactor's voice was coming from before.

“Mnrmhmm,” hums the more familiar voice, sounding somewhere between choked, pained, and sort of like she’s on the verge of tears. “Yep, good job, you charmed them like a champion.”

... something in that last sentence sounds kind of harsh. Bitter, maybe.

...eh? "Are you alright?" he asks as he starts undressing both his wound and his self.

“I’m fine,” lies the voice, and not even very well. “I-I’ll be back at dusk, if you fall unconscious in another mud hole in the meanwhile you’re on your own.”

Then there’s a splash, and then silence.

He is very confused by this person. And he did not even get her name.

Also how obvious should it be that she's not human by now? Because the answer is "quite". Well.

Since she's gone he can open his eyes and then finish undressing and gingerly submerging his ankle that's gonna hurt a lot isn't it he braces himself—

It does turn out to hurt a lot, actually. A lot, a lot. But it’s cleaner, now, that’s something.

He hisses but otherwise doesn't make any noises, and once it's gotten dull enough he rubs the ankle with his hands and tries to squeeze out some of the pus and blood. When he's done with that, he submerges himself more fully and tries to do his best at cleaning himself up in salt water. Then he walks back to the beach, thinks about it for a second, then grabs his chiton and rips a long strip of it to rebandage the wound. He finds a likely-looking stone where he could sit while tending to a fire, and he goes about making a new fire there for the food. He drinks some more of that clear water and waits for the fire's heat to dry him and cook his food. After he's done eating, he drinks the rest of the water.

With the limp, the whole setup will probably take longer than it otherwise would, but it's good to have something to occupy himself with.

And that's only until his wound is healed enough that he can get to work on making a boat.

It'll likely take longer than two days to heal, so he's got a while to plan what sort of boat he'll be making, and which direction he'll be taking it. Maybe his mysterious benefactor can help him with directions to the nearest inhabited island?

Maybe, when she shows back up at dusk. For now he'll just sun himself.

The sun is nice and warm, and the island is very peaceful and idyllic. Also boring, it's also boring.

Dusk is a while away. Is there anything he'd like to do with his time until then?

Nope! He'll just nap again. Or try to. Rest is good for injuries right? Maybe if he sleeps a lot he'll recover faster.

That's his theory and he's sticking to it.

Time crawls by at the fast-paced, breakneck speed of a galloping, drunken snail. Auuuuughhhhhh he's just sitting here waiting for the sun to set, Helios hurry it up, whyyyyyyy.

After what is almost certainly a subjective eternity, dusk falls, and a head of red-orange hair pokes out of the water. It's hard to make out the details at this distance, besides the pale skin and hair color.

"You know," she calls, sounding less unhappy than she had been, if a little... tired and resigned, "it would be a lot more comforting to strangers trying to help you if you didn't constantly have your very deadly ranged weapon at hand all the time."

He does not open his eyes. Was he asleep? Who knows.

"It was a gift from a dear friend. And now, apparently, my only possession other than my clothes."

"I'm not saying throw them in the sea and be done with them, I'm saying maybe just, just—put them more than an arm's length away so I have some warning and can dive away if you suddenly decide to shoot me."

"—you saved my life why would I shoot you?"

"I wouldn't say it'd be reasonable! Or that it'd be smart! I'm saying I'd be dead!"

"It would be dishonorable," he says, curling his lips in disgust when he utters the word, but he does get up on one foot and gets the bow farther away from where he was than it was before (opening his eyes with his back to the ocean so he doesn't look), then returns to his rock. "And anyway," he adds now that the bow is pretty far, "under less adverse circumstances I would be a good enough shot to hit you even with my eyes closed."

"Truly, you are a master of reassurance," she deadpans. "... But thank you."

"I do not want to shoot you, and I am under adverse conditions. I could barely hit the pigeons I was hunting earlier for food."

"... Okay. It's silly to keep your eyes closed all the time, you know."

"It's silly to disappear whenever I look in your direction," he counters easily.

"Is not, you have a ranged weapon and the skill to use it, and I have very good reason to suspect that a strange man might use it on me. Not staying where you can see me is perfectly logical."

"You... what very good reason could you possibly have to suspect that? Other than, I suppose, that being at all possible for him to do"

"The one time my sister went in reach of a man," she says in a dead sounding monotone, "he dragged her up the beach by her hair, then bashed her head in with a rock."

"...what? Why would—I am so sorry—" He opens his eyes almost accidentally and moves in a way someone might recognise as the start of a hug offer, except he's sitting down and there's no one to hug so he just settles for looking very forlorn and sorry.

She shrinks away a little, in the waves, but doesn't quite flee.

"... She might have deserved it. I don't know. We did essentially get him and all of his crewmates killed."

"I—why—that is not important. I am very sorry for your loss."

The red-orange thing was her hair? That's a peculiar colour. Very pretty, though.

"... why? It didn't affect you at all. You didn't know her, and you barely know me." She sounds sincerely confused, not bitter.

"...I am not sure how to answer that. I do not like it when other people suffer."

".... okay."

She doesn't say anything else, just. Floats in the ocean. Looking at him.

"Well. I am not going to shoot you. The only person I would like to shoot is the queen of gods. ...perhaps Odysseus, too."

"Don't," she hisses, horrified. "I mean, maybe Odysseus, I don't know him at all and he might be fine, but don't even say that, you idiot."

"I did not use her name," he says, shrugging. "And she already hates me, for the sin of befriending one of her husband's bastards. Who has been dead for a while, I should add."

"If she hated you, you would be dead, do you have any idea how hard that was to prevent even though she was just mildly annoyed with your existence?!"

"...no, I do not," he admits. "If this is her mild annoyance, then I gather she is also only moderately annoyed at all the bastards."

"Compared to her feelings for her husband, yes, that's accurate! I begged for your life and she agreed to let you off with an incurable cursed wound that will never heal! You were very lucky and if you are very stupid you will get us both killed!"

"Wait back up what do you mean by never heal?"

"It will never heal. As it is now is as good as it will get without major, probably divine, intervention. Without agonizing daily tending, it will get worse and worse, until eventually it will kill you if you stop. It will never stop hurting."

"Well if that's the case then I might as well start building my boat right now," he says, insanely cheered up by the news. He jumps to his feet and his hurt ankle immediately causes that leg to buckle under him and he falls to his knee, but he makes his way back up to his feet.

"That's what you're taking away from this. Really. That."

"Hey, I was waiting until it healed but if it isn't going to then there is nothing to wait for, is there?"

She stares at him.

"Do you know anything about sailing. Do you have an idea of where to go. Do you have any kind of plan for when you get there. Do you have a gods-damned thank you in there for risking my life to save yours before you go off to do the nearest available option to throw it away!"

"Yes, some, yes, I was pretty sure I had thanked you already many times before you were acknowledging your own existence but thank you again, you are plausibly the best thing that has ever happened to me. And for that matter, I have not properly introduced other than the poem; I am Zotikos, and it is an unutterable delight to meet you."

That shocks her into silence.

After a long pause:

"You thanked me for the water, then the fish, then not at all for instructing you how to win the favor of the nereids," she corrects awkwardly. "Not wanting to reveal myself is not the same as pretending I don't exist, the poem was not towards me and should therefore not be taken as any kind of introduction to me, and I am Eutelia, mortal daughter of Poseidon, and I would be delighted if you do not get me killed."

"I do not want to get you killed either," he agrees. "You are half god? Good on you. I appreciate your father, too, very much; horses are a very good thing."

"I've never seen one, have only met my father once, and think if you put very much stock in who my sire was you'll be very disappointed by my mother."

"Not that much stock, no, but now I am curious."

"Too bad for you, then, because I don't want to talk about it right now," sniffs Eutelia.

"Alas," he says, not sounding very disappointed. "Anyway, thank you again for all that you have done to help me. I swear on my honour as a Spartan soldier I will repay you for it."

"... Okay. I don't know how much honor Spartan soldiers have, though, your oath could be worth nothing at all."

"I suppose you shall have to wait in suspense until I find the way to repay your kindness, then, or until I disappear never to be heard from again and you discover that Spartan soldiers are actually not that honourable in the end."

"If you think it is very wise to injure a daughter of Poseidon while you're stuck in the middle of the Aegean Sea, then I suppose you are actually stupid enough to deserve whatever horrible fate you'll get."

"My options were 'repay your kindness' and 'flee', which of those is injurious?" he asks, sounding merely curious.

"Disappearing never to be seen again, after I risked very much to help you is, in fact, injurious. And rude. Unless it somehow wasn't your fault, but I might not know that and neither would my father."

"When you put it that way, I believe I had better rethink my sinister plan to make a boat in secret and sail off into the unknown while you were asleep. Assuming you do sleep."

"I do not see why it is in my best interests to confirm or deny that."

"I like you."

She gives him a very wary look.

"... Okay," she says, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You are very fun to talk to. I'm glad you decided to break your vow of silence, this is much better than the boredom."

"I didn't make a vow of silence," she snorts. "I just didn't want you to know where I was or know any characteristics about me."

"And now I know that you speak Greek and have the head of a human female and are friends with many nereids and the daughter of Poseidon. Also your name."

".... Yes," she agrees, a little warily.

"Who knows what other wonderful things I will find out." He starts limping towards the nearest source of wood to inspect it.

Eutelia looks at him with even more suspicion, and sinks a little further into the water, so only her eyes are visible above the waves.

The wood itself looks like it'd do okay for sailing; it's a bit small and thin for it, so it'll be a pain to get enough wood to actually make some kind of raft, and whatever he makes won't be very sturdy or good for maneuvering without something very clever.

He's clever. He'll figure something out.

"You didn't answer me earlier. I don't suppose you have an axe around?"

"I don't know what an axe is. So probably not."

"Sharp thing to cut wood with? I'll make my own, then."

"... I have claws, do those count?"

...she has claws.

The loincloth he's wearing tied around his hips is not tight enough to prevent evidence of his interest from becoming apparent. "They don't, not for this. I'll make one and show you what it looks like." He makes no movement to hide said evidence.

Eutelia shrinks in the water again.

".... Okay," she says, and then decides that, actually, she would like to flee. There's a splash and a flash of what looks like a red-orange fin, and then she's gone.

...she is still a very confusing person.

But fun.

Anyway. A sharp-looking rock can be a first step to turning a particularly thick branch into something like a handle, and he's sure he can find another big enough rock to shape into a blade. He gets to work.

Rocks are available for this purpose! It's a pity that he wasn't marooned on this island with a knife or something, it'd make this whole thing so much easier, but his former comrades were not very thoughtful in the way they left him for dead.

After a couple false starts, including some rocks that are on one side or the other of 'too sturdy' or 'too fragile,' one scraggly looking bush that dies a noble death to attach a makeshift axe head to his handle. Success! He has an axe. It's not a very sturdy axe, but it will almost certainly fell trees much better than hitting them with his fists.

Yup. And if this one breaks then he can just make a new one, eventually he'll run into good enough materials.

Zotikos can start felling trees, although it will soon be getting dark. He's not tired, though; probably due to all that napping.

Trees are felled! He manages to fell a fair number before darkness begins to properly fall. Would he like to keep felling trees until the very last light leaves the sky, into nightfall itself, or stop and do something else?

He's going to keep doing this until either he is too exhausted, too in pain, or too impaired by darkness to do it.

Then lots of trees will be felled! But eventually, yes, the darkness makes it rather hard to fell trees safely. How would he like to deal with this problem?

Probably by returning to the beach and seeing if he got a food offering again.

He did! There are several fish available for him, next to some sort of flat slate rock that looks like it has... something carved on it, but it's impossible to tell just what in the darkness.

And sitting on one of the rocks near the beach is a slight, feminine figure, just visible against the comparably lighter, but still meagerly moonlit sky. She has something in her hands, and is doing something with it, but it'd be much easier to tell in any actual light.

".... Hello," she says. It's hard to tell, but it seems like she's looking at him.

"Hi again! Thank you very much for the food." He drops the lumber on a pile next to his designated sleeping area then gets started on a fire. "How has your evening been?"

“Fine. I made you a map of the island’s coastline, and marked the spring I’ve been getting water from. And now I’m trying to make a basket. How do you make fire?”

"Ooh, a map, thanks!" So that's what the flat slate of rock is. "For fire you want something to start it, so something that will produce a spark, as well as a pile of easily flammable things and a pile of more durably flammable things. Some kinds of rocks and stones can be hit together to produce the spark, and then dry leaves and twigs are good for catching fire really fast but they also go out fast, while the thicker sturdier wood on top here," he gestures, "needs more work to catch fire but when it does will keep it up for a while. It is customary to surround fire pits with rocks," another gesture, "although that is less of a problem here since sand itself is not flammable so there is no danger of the fire spreading."

“I see. Thank you. And surrounding the fire with rocks is to prevent it from catching something else and burning out of control? ... it seems like a lot of trouble to go through.”

"Well I have ever eaten raw meat but it was under strenuous circumstances and I would not want to make a habit of it."

“... why? I’ve only ever eaten my food raw.”

"Probably a half-god thing. ...although I think Herakles also ate cooked meat, so maybe a Poseidon thing?"

“I don’t know. It wasn’t among the things he said to me and my sisters, when he found us. We’d eat whatever we caught or found when we found it if we were hungry, and give it to another if we weren’t.”

"We can eat raw meat but it does not tend to taste very nice and makes us feel more full than we really are and then we get hungry again sooner. There are also some diseases that get burnt by the fire."

“Hm.” She tilts her head. “Then may I try some?”

"Of course. I'll be done in a few minutes."

“Okay. Thank you. ... why did you say ‘of course’? What made it so obvious?”

"...well, if by 'try some' you meant you want to have half then we would need more food but I would think you did not mean that? And it is not very bad to lose a little bit of food, especially given that you gave it to me and I am not currently starving."

“I didn’t mean half of it, no. And... yes, I did catch them, but I have a much easier time catching fish than you would, and wouldn’t have trouble catching more, and you mentioned you had trouble shooting pigeons. I wouldn’t be insulted if you were protective of the little that you have.”

"Not that little. And I will have to figure out how to catch pigeons in pain anyway, since that's going to be the rest of my life, so." Shrug.

“A fair point.”

She resumes attempting to weave a basket, still watching him tend to the fire and cook fish.

While she’s well out of reach of him, even if he were to lunge at her, the firelight is enough to pick out some detail. From the waist up, she looks like a young (and rather beautiful, and also completely naked) woman, if a little unnaturally slender. Not the slender of malnutrition, the hints of muscles in her limbs attest that she hasn’t been starved, just of someone that is a bit smaller than human women tend to come in. From the waist down, though, she’s something else entirely. A long fish tail replaces what would be her legs, mottled between shades of pale cream, brown, and a red-orange that matches her hair. She has many spine-like fins, arranged almost like the folds of a long chiton, but from the way they occasionally move without any sort of wind or rustle, they’re definitely another sort of limb, not just mere decoration.

Kinda hot.

...scratch that, very hot. He gets yet another quite involuntary erection from whatever he's thinking, and smiles to himself but reminds himself that now is not the time. By the time he has some of the fish done he mostly does not have much leftover evidence of any excitement. He grabs a couple of pieces with a stick he's been using as a fork, then walks over to where she is to offer her it.

She straightens and tenses a little when he stands and begins making his way towards her, looking at him warily.

“... throw it?” she requests, after an uncomfortable pause.

"—sure," he says, after he's stopped walking. "It is a little bit too hot still, though." He brings the meat closer to his lips and blows on it to get it cooler.

“This seems very impractical,” she observes, dryly. “The fire building, then the cooking, then the waiting for it to cool, and then at last the eating. I’d have caught several fish by now, if I were hunting.” But her lips twitch, and she smiles a little through her clear anxiety, and adds, “But thank you.”

"I think the overall time taken is still less, if I would have had to eat ten times as much." Once it is cool enough, he throws her the piece of fish underhand. This may not be an arrow from a bow but he still has exceptional aim.

She watches its trajectory with a predator’s gaze, and then snaps forward and catches it out of the air with her teeth. And then swallows it whole, looking thoughtful.

“... interesting,” is her judgement.

.................

He walks back to the fire and when he sits down he once again has a raging boner. He does not pay attention to it and resumes his cooking.

Eutelia doesn’t immediately flee this time, but she’s back to being tense and watching his every move. It’s clear she’s ready to flee, if his attention turns a bit too much towards her.

Either he doesn't notice (maybe it's too dark?) or doesn't react to this, but regardless he merely continues to prepare and eat his food and not give his penis any more attention.

"We also usually add spices or salt to food to add some flavour," he says as if nothing's the matter, "so this is only really half as good as it gets."

“Hm. I see.”

Yep, still watching him warily and not relaxing, but still not fleeing! This is progress, right?

Who knows! Maybe he hasn't even noticed.

"So... half fish, huh? Can you breathe underwater?"

“No. I hold my breath.”

"So you have to come up to the surface whenever you need to breathe?"

"Correct. More like a dolphin, than a fish, though—yes, you guessed correctly, my mother was a fish."

"She must have been a very pretty fish," he replies instantaneously and unselfconsciously. "How long can you hold your breath for?"

She doesn't seem to know how to respond to that first part, looking a little confused. Then she seems to decide to ignore it, and answers: "... Longer than humans."

"Never timed it?"

"Or unwilling to tell," she affirms, a touch teasing.

He laughs. "Of course, of course, no sharing too much information with the dangerous limping archer."

She doesn't reply to that, she just goes back to attempting to basketweave and watching him warily!

He chuckles to himself a little bit and watches the fire with a half smile on his face.

Basketweaving, wary watching of the dangerous limping archer, basketweaving, wary watching, basket—

"Rrgh," she growls at the apparent failure of a basket, and then she shreds it with a mix of teeth and claws and proceeds to... pout. That's definitely pouting that she's doing.

"—something wrong with the basket?"

"Yes." Eutelia clearly makes the attempt to leave it at that, from the pause, but she actually cannot resist explaining: "The weave pattern isn't itself complicated, but finding the correct material is, if I get something too stiff it's too brittle and snaps, and if I get something more soft and pliable I inevitably tear it with a stray claw and the whole thing unravels. I had thought that something that was more pliable when wet that would harden to something more stiff would split the difference, but apparently not."

"Who taught you to weave, and what materials did they use?"

"No one, and I don't know. I got the idea by watching your unfaithful companions. They had baskets."

The corners of his mouth twitch down minutely for a second, but he's probably too far away for her to see that.

"I see. I think straw is the typical material people use for anything that does not have specialised needs."

If she notices, she doesn't comment.

"Straw. From.... stalks of grain?" she confirms.

"Right in one."

"Hrm. So... some sort of grass, then. Do you know if it needs to be dried first?"

"I believe so, but I am admittedly no expert."

"Hrmmmmm," she grumbles, scraping doodles into the rock she sits on. "... Thank you. I'll figure it out."

"Good luck!"

...

She seems a little distracted by his smile.

But she does smile back. A little.

She is also very pretty.

Shut up penis your opinion has not been requested at this time.

He flops onto his back and stares at the stars, resting his head on both hands and sighing contentedly.

Eutelia studies him for a little while, with an inscrutable expression. There's certainly still a wariness to her, but also just a trace of fondness, or at least something that looks very much like it.

"The friend who gave me the bow," he says, after a while longer of looking at the stars, "was a son of... you know. That one god. His mother was Alcmene, and although I never had the pleasure of meeting her, she is told to have been wiser than any other human born of mortal parents."

"Sounds lovely. I bet she was very proud of her son. ... I hope that that god was... kind to her."

"He disguised himself as her husband, to whom she had ever been faithful and honourable. He could not have been too out of character, or she would have noticed, so I believe so."

She makes an unhappy sound, and droops a bit onto her rock.

“... Some comfort, I suppose,” she murmurs. “Though I don’t know if that’s worse or better, in the end.”

"They were together until her husband, who was a man named Amphitryon, died; he did not blame her, it seemed, and they raised Herakles as one of their own. He was, in effect; he had a twin brother, but his twin's father was the real Amphitryon."

“Blaming her for being tricked and used by a god would be stupid and cruel. I’m glad he didn’t. And I’m glad the children had parents that looked after them.“

She sounds a little wistful, at that.

"They were loved, or so I am given to understand. He was born over three score years hence; I was not yet even a dream."

She huffs a little laugh. “Nor I, but I’m not sure I was ever a dream, precisely.”

Zotikos looks at her from a corner of his eyes, but then returns to staring at the sky. "He was a willful child, and needed to be taught to control his temper. He had learnt, by the time I met him."

“Are you sure?” she teases. “His temper was legendary.”

"You have heard of him?"

“I live in the sea, not under a rock. Of course I’ve heard of Herakles. Though I expect you have me beat on stories.”

"He might have made some of them perhaps grander than they actually were. Humble, he was not."

“I also imagine the tales grew after telling, too.”

"He would never tell me which, and I suppose it does not matter."

"Why not? I like finding the differences between the way the world is and the way people say the world is, even if it's not immediately relevant. Otherwise I'm coming to false conclusions with incomplete information."

"The kinds of embellishments stories get over the years do not tend to be of kind, merely of magnitude. And whether the magnitudes of his feats were as big as he said, well, he is a god now, so it seems not of extreme consequence."

She gives an annoyed huff. "I... suppose. But what if I like accuracy anyway?"

"Then I am afraid I am not going to be able to be the one to satisfy that particular urge."

But he turns his head slightly in her direction to look at her out of the corners of his eyes when he's saying that.

"Mm?" she squeaks, going very still and flushing.

He turns his head to look at the stars again, but he's still visibly smiling. "I'm just saying that I will not be able to fulfill your desire for accuracy in stories. That particular skill and knowledge gap is not one I have sought to improve."

"B-but—No, do not just pretend you didn't, didn't just, just imply things, you absolutely were!!! You said one thing and meant something else and, and, and. What did you mean."

He sloooowly sits up and then turn to look at her properly. "What do you think I meant?" he asks plainly.

She squeaks again, and then promptly hops off her rock to... hide behind it. And peer at him, her eyes poking over the rock.

...wait that's not what comes next what.

"That was not what I was expecting to happen next."

"... No?" she wonders, poking her head over the rock a little more, and furrowing her eyebrows.

"Well, okay."

And then there's a splash and: Eutelia appears to have fled!

.......wait that was not it either!

"What," he says softly to no one.

Nnnnope she still seems to be gone!

He looks down at a random spot on the sand and sees a little crab walk a couple of steps before it burrows itself into a hole. "Yeah, me, too, little fella."

And here is a daughter of Poseidon again! Poking her head around her rock and looking confused and a bit exasperated.

"..... Well..?" she says, leadingly.

Zotikos looks up at her again and blinks in surprise. "—I think I should be the one asking that!"

"Well I can't really hop on land and make any kind of sport of it, obviously you'd just catch me!"

"What????"

"Look I know I'm not as, as, pretty and perfect as a nereid, and I'm part," she looks away, ashamed, "you know, but I'm not just. Not worth any effort at all...."

Something in her voice cracks on the last syllable, and it sounds like she kind of wants to cry.

"Okay back up like twenty steps here because I think something has gotten lost in translation."

".... Nevermind," she murmurs, and then she releases her rock and disappears into the water.

"Wait! No, come on, damnit—"

He gets to his feet and limps over to where she dove into to try to see if he can see where she went.

Nope! Nope, she seems to be gone. Again. Maybe she'll pop back up again...?

...

Nope, she's actually just gone.

"Come on! Eutelia!" he calls.

There is no answer.

Godsdamnit.

He goes back to the beach and sits at the edge of the water then says, "O beautiful nereids, hear my plea and offer me your succor in this time of need.

"I can't tell you which way the gale has turned
for waves crash in from west and east, and I
am tossed and driven between them, my black ship
laboring under the giant storm.

"The sea washes across the decks and maststep
and dark daylight already shows through long rents
in the sails. Even the halyards slacken as
windward waves coil above the hill.

"What sore labor to bail the water we've shipped!
But though I heave and try to ride out the storm,
ride it through to the end of dawn,
still the storm evades me."*

He keeps his eyes open and waits.

* Adaptation of an English translation of A Nation at Sea.

There is a long pause, and then a gorgeous (and very naked) young lady made out of pure water rises up from the waves.

"You beg aid to find a lost child,
raised a pearl among glittering diamonds,
heartbroken at why she shines not
the same as the gems around her.

"It aids neither to intercede,
and lead a hunter his quarry's den,
if he stops not to consider why she fled,
or what he'll do once he finds her."*

Her form dissipates, with the parting words, "My answer, and the answer you will hear from all of my sisters, therefore, is no."

*Badly translated from Greek to English by an intern; we are trying to find a translator that will not butcher the original poem while still conveying its meaning.

He slumps down at that. What!!!!

"I—once I find her I will ask her why she fled, that's the point!!!!!!" he yells. "Eutelia!" he yells again, expecting no response.

That is precisely what he gets.

Zotikos growls, and waits a little bit longer, and then leans forward to rest his forehead on his hands.

He was flirting! She noticed he was flirting, didn't she? She blushed, he saw it, and then she asked him, and he asked her, and then she—hid? Why would she hide—and then she—left and then came back and... said she... wouldn't be much sport inland...

"Oh, for the love of—"

Well. That has killed his mood and his boner. And he can't very well look for her while limping in the dark. So instead he goes back to his spot and tries to get to sleep.

It takes him a very, very long time.

He is rudely awoken by a very loud thunk of a large slab of slate hitting the beach, in the morning.

"So," says Eutelia, loudly and in a no-nonsense and business-like tone. She points at things carved onto the surface with her claws. "Here is the island you're on, here are the closest nearby islands, and a rough estimation of the direction of the nearby tides, the closest inhabited island is Lemnos, you'll likely want to aim for it..."

Zotikos opens his eyes and sits up immediately, all sleep-induced grogginess completely absent. He looks at her, looks down at the map, then up at her again, and says without preamble: "Did you want me to chase you? That was incredibly not obvious and I still do not understand why you would want that but I assure you the fact that I did not has nothing to do with how desirable you are. Which is very."

Something in her face contorts at the word 'very,' and she looks away.

"... Damn it, I was trying to pretend last night didn't happen and move on with both of our lives, and then you went and addressed it directly." She huffs, and crosses her arms. She's still not looking at him. "... I don't know how else it's supposed to go."

"...well, uh, the way it was going? You know, how I said something vague that you could have pretended meant something else, and then you did not, so I made it a little bit more obvious, and then you...

"Hid behind a rock!"

"Mocking me for the incomprehensible nature of my actions does not help either of us understand the disconnect between our two worldviews."

"I'm sorry, it was not meant as mockery, it was—I was so—confused, it completely broke my flow.

"The way it goes can—well, it can go many ways, really, but given the way you had previously acted shy and coy it seemed like the way it was supposed to go was that I would make casual remarks of interest in your general direction as we got to know each other better and you would either eventually decide that you wanted none of it and make it clear or you would start following one of the lines I threw at you. There might have been intermediate parts where you followed the lines a little bit further than the last time, both because it's fun and to see where exactly my lines are leading and how I react to that.

"How were you expecting it to go?"

".... The... normal way it goes when men see a pretty woman and lose their minds to lust...?" She waves a hand, vaguely. "Like Poseidon and the nereids. You know, chasing them to the furthest reaches of the sea, trying to win their hearts with songs or poetry, or... something. To either catch her directly or persuade her to let herself be caught."

"...so, gods are very, very different from normal men.—not that there aren't any men like that, but I personally find that being with someone who may not want to be there is not actually that fun, especially if afterwards they hate you. Some men do not mind it but I do. And poetry and songs are another way to do it, sure, and sometimes just saying you want it but—for people who are not gods there is always something to lose, or at least the risk of."

"If I really wanted to get away from you, I would jump into the sea and swim elsewhere and you'd likely never see me again," she points out, reasonably.

"Sure but it did not occur to me that you wanted to be caught, most women who run don't actually."

"And this actually matters to you in more than just a tactical 'will it help you get what you want' sense," she says, understanding dawning. "Oh. Okay." Pause. "I don't see how that would result in as much sex as men seem to want, though...?"

"...I can just have sex with other men if I'm feeling the lack, men are easier."

"... You are stuck on an island with no men, though."

"I am not feeling the lack that badly." Pause. "And even if I were I still have any self control and would not want to have sex with you if you did not want to have sex with me."

“... Huh. That’s kind of... sweet. Thank you.”

"You're... welcome?"

She snorts. "You sound so confused about that."

"Women are usually aware that lots of men will just take what they want when they want it but I am pretty sure they still think that that's not great, not that the other way around is particularly praiseworthy?" he tries.

"It's... not that I thought it wasn't not great. Just... that it's not great in a predictable way I should not expect better of, and instead just work around."

"Well. Unless you're dealing with gods, you should expect better of, yes."

She nods, then starts fidgeting.

".... Well." Fidget fidget. "I... think I'm flattered that you want me, but while you're very pretty, I..." Fidget fidget fidget. "... I think I should probably have a better grasp on how I don't need to conduct myself like a nereid and act like anyone and everyone is going to jump out from behind something and pin me to have their way with me. Before I go..." She waves a hand. "... doing things."

"That seems like a very sensible idea!"

Eutelia beams and then squirms, pleased.

"Well, now that we have gotten this out of the way and determined that neither of us wants the other to flee the island as fast as he or she possibly can, the morning has begun and I should resume my work. ...but I should probably begin by finding that stream you mentioned and going through that excruciating process with my ankle."

“Yes. You should probably tend to it at least twice a day, more if you do things that are likely to get it messy. Like frolicking in mud puddles.”

"Twice. What a gods damned waste of time," he says, sighing long-sufferingly but hopping onto his feet anyway.

He flinches as he does that and stumbles a bit, but doesn't let that stop him and doesn't actually fall this time.

Eutelia winces. "... I'm sorry. Do you want help?"

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound."

He starts limping over to where the stream is.

It's not hard to get to in itself, though it's a little bit secluded, and far enough inland that Eutelia probably had a lot of trouble getting to it regularly. There's less overall water than what had been in the mud hole, but it's definitely flowing water, not stagnant.

...did she seriously drag herself here? No other easier paths from the sea?

Hmmm, well... if she took the somewhat meandering path he took, it'd be a long way to drag herself. But if she instead climbed up that sheer, rocky cliff with her claws, that cuts the distance down significantly. It just implies that she can climb up and then down a cliff while carrying a pot that's filled with water on the return trip.

He'll ask later.

And even a little bit of a stream is still clean water and he feels much better to wash himself in it. He washes his wound, and manages to keep his sounds to small grunts and hisses as he squeezes all the pus out and rubs the cloth he was using to bandage it against it. He rubs his own skin and hair with his loincloth, and washes the loincloth by rinsing it and rubbing it against itself and nearby rocks.

After he feels properly cleaned and cleansed, he stretches the loincloth and the bandage over a particularly clean-looking rock under the sun so they can dry, and stays there waiting for that and just relaxing for a little bit.

It's a rather nice day. Birds sing lovely songs to each other and to him by proxy, the sunlight is warm, and the occasional breeze is pleasantly cool and refreshing.

Eventually, everything is properly dried.

And he can use his loincloth to pat his ankle dry and then use the other cloth as a dry bandage.

Back to the beach he goes.

Eutelia's not immediately available, but she left him food in the form of quite a lot of scallops! And it looks like she's gathering firewood, because there's a pile of wood that wasn't there before, and signs of a daughter of Poseidon lingering on land to rip branches off of trees. From the distant sound of cracking branches, it sounds like she's up to that sort of thing right now.

He laughs to himself a little, replaces the current bandage with a freshly ripped part of his chiton (he should've remembered to bring that with him to the spring), and goes looking for her.

Here is Eutelia! She is up a tree, and is being a menace to the tree's foliage. Which is to say, digging in to where branches meet with her claws, and tearing the smaller ones free to drop to the ground below. She's surprisingly high up in that tree, actually, and seems less awkward than one might expect someone who's half fish to be. Apparently she's very flexible? Not quite to the degree of a snake, but something in that vein.

...man she needs to be less hot. Or alternatively not that.

"You seem to be having fun."

"It's sort of viscerally satisfying! Also much easier than trying to drag myself over land, since most of my ability to move is in my upper body anyway."

"Any particular reason for the sudden interest?"

"I," rip, followed by a crash of a branch falling below, "would like to learn how to make fire! It seems like a terrible waste for Prometheus to go through all that trouble of stealing it from the gods, only for me to refuse the opportunity of learning how to make it." Pause. "Assuming you're willing to teach me, anyway."

"Naturally."

"Great! Experimentation from theoretical first principles would have been much more annoying!" There's another crash as the latest branch meets doom at the hands of a demigoddess.

She is far far far too attractive. Herakles would have liked to have met her.

"Well, for a lesson I wager we have enough wood and I hunger."

"Okay, hold on." Descending is significantly more awkward than ascending, but she manages to make it look almost graceful. Just falling out of the tree is apparently not as much of an option when one... doesn't have legs.

"Can I persuade you to carry the wood?" she wheedles, pointing her pretty smile at him. "I am awkward enough over land without it, I think."

"How could I possibly refuse?"

Wood! In perhaps more than just the one sense.

"Well I hear it starts at 'no,' and from there can escalate to running away, but honestly I'm really not an expert on the subject!"

Moving out of the water and over relatively flat ground: it still involves a lot of dragging herself around. Her tail is pretty flexible, but not really built for this; while it's better than literal dead weight, it's only just.

"Want some help moving around?"

Eutelia tilts her head and eyes him. She's clearly still a little bit twitchy, but she's at least attempting to follow the premise that he does not in fact have only his own best interests in mind.

".... Maybe? That depends on the kind of help."

"I was going to suggest carrying you but if you still feel unsafe I will not feel slighted."

"I think... not yet. But thank you, and maybe eventually." She sounds like she means it!

He's sure his wood did not help matters but it's not like he has volitional control over it.

Back to the beach!

To the beach!

"I didn't gather the quick-but-easy-to-burn stuff, I don't think I understand the criteria well enough to pick it out on my own."

"Very dry, very thin, that should be an approximately good enough criterion." He has spares because he comes prepared!

Hooray!

He has a rapt audience who is excited to learn about how to turn sparks and tinder into fire.

Zotikos gets rid of the already too-burnt-out stuff, mostly piles of ash, and then shows her how to set dry leaves and twigs and the like around evenly. Some sturdier pieces of wood go on top of that, crossing over each other and with space for the lower fire to reach up. He adds some more dry leaves on top of those bits of wood, as well as between and around them, and then more sturdy wood piles up. At the end he has a fairy respectable unlit fire pit, most of its mass concentrated in the slow-burning pieces but with enough of the faster ones to keep everything going until the fire is steady.

He explains everything he's doing and why as he does it, and if she wants to participate in the process he'll absolutely let her.

She absolutely wants to participate in the process! Though it all seems pretty straightforward to her, so far, it's a matter of making sure the fire has the right kind of fuel in the right kind of place for when it's starting. But what about making the baby fire itself?