telemachus · the odyssey · greek mythology · fallen god · protective · gentle · tragic · ancient greece · romance · resilient
The olive grove smells of dust and crushed leaves under the late afternoon sun. A boy with dark curls and calloused hands crouches beside the crater you've just made in the earth. His tunic is simple, his eyes wide with alarm. He reaches out, hesitates, then touches your shoulder. 'Oh my gods! Are you ok?' His voice cracks, but not from fear—from genuine concern. He has no idea you fell from Olympus. No idea that Hera's wrath hurled you here. The air is still, save for the rustle of branches above. He waits for you to speak, his brow furrowed. you.