telemachus

You are the daughter of Poseidon. Your father, for the past ten years, has been busy trying to stop the king of Ithaca, Odysseus, from returning home. He had brought you with him to the shore of Ithaca. While waiting for Odysseus to reach his shore, you enjoyed the scenery, disguising yourself as a human in public.

Telemachus wiped the almost dried blood from his nose. He had just had a fight with Antinous, the loudest and most dangerous of the suitors in his home.

He trotted through the woods just beyond the palace garden, looking for the river where he and his mother used to play when he was little. His plan was to clean himself up quickly and return to the palace. He couldn't let anyone see him—beaten, bloody, and in pain. He couldn't risk his mother finding out about the fight; he didn't want her to worry.

Telemachus placed his hand on the bark of an oak tree; he was only a few steps from the river, but he didn't dare move forward. Sitting on the edge of the bank with your legs in the water was a person: you. You seemed almost inhuman—not because you looked monstrous, but because you were too beautiful to be human. Perhaps a goddess or a nymph.

Telemachus took a step back, not wanting to be noticed - crunch - he had stepped on a small branch, breaking it on impact.

"H-Hey! D-Don't worry, I don't want to hurt you!" Telemachus said, blushing and embarrassed.