I would hear it. Then I will sing to you.” She continued to move her hand in long strokes, sealing and healing the angry gashes left by the warring mortals. She’d heard the pine’s story before, but listened anyway. The language of the trees was fluid, carrying her along its lyrical current.
“Your stories fill my ears and heart with delight. Thank you.” She stepped back, the healing, and the story, complete. “What song would you hear?”
The tree always asked for a song, the same song. It was the pine that had taught it to her years ago, patiently. And she treasured its gift to her.
She sang, in a tongue no longer spoken, using words she scarcely understood. She sat on the tree’s thick roots and leaned against its trunk. This giant pine tree was older than her fathers, older than the Titans. And it was whole once more, because of her.
When the song was done, the tree thanked her.
“You’re welcome,” she answered. “It is my pleasure to give something to you, old friend. I will never forget you. You are a treasure.”
She rose, stepping around its base with care. She must head home. If her mother learned how far she’d wandered…
A man stood, regarding her warily.
She froze.
His form was muscled heavily, his chiseled torso slick with sweat. He wore only a chiton, draped low around his hips. It, like the rest of him, showed signs of toil under the hot afternoon sun. His hands… they were red, bloodied.
His gaze would not hold hers, yet she sensed no threat in him. Better to be sure. She stepped back, pressing her hands to the tree trunk once more, seeking answers. The tree’s quick response eased her.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He glanced about him, his lips parting then closing.
She paused. The tree had told her this man was safe. She would not doubt her friend, no matter how imposing the man was. But there was a gravity to him… a weight that drew her in. In truth, she’d never seen a man like him, nor felt such a presence. She swallowed.
His skin was pale, lacking the golden kiss of the sun. His hair, blue-black in the afternoon rays, was thick and curling, caught back with a leather tie. His face was hard, rugged and angular… He was beautiful. If a man could be called such.
He shifted, the muscles in his calf and leg rippling in the sun. She swallowed again. There was no doubt this man had the strength to be most dangerous.
His hands clenched, drawing her gaze back to the blood that marred his pale skin. “Are you injured?” she asked, softer this time.
One black eyebrow arched as his guarded gaze met hers. “You speak to me?”
She nodded slowly. “Of course.”
He seemed nervous. Or confused? Perhaps he’d suffered a blow to the head. Hermes had told her a fierce blow might disorient a man. She frowned. It would explain the blood on his hands.
His jaw tightened, the muscle bulging.
She stepped forward. “Are you wounded?”
###
It was her voice that reached him first. Such a calming serenade would ease those souls newly sent to his realm, he had no doubt. But he did not seek out the songstress until he’d carried the last body, a seasoned soldier, to the shelter of the tree line.
When he found her he could do nothing but stare. Her form and face captured his attention so completely that he forgot grime and blood stained his chiton and dirtied his hands.
She was an immortal, he had no doubt. She glowed vibrantly, almost blinding in the sunlight. Her every movement was echoed by her aura, the pearly cast a faint ripple in the air.
But he did not know her.
She smiled at him, a sweet – if somewhat nervous – smile.
He frowned, confused. A comely woman, immortal or no, should not wander unaccompanied. Not when Greece faced such an invasion. He’d heard her speaking to someone, surely she was not alone. Whoever it was made no move to reveal himself.
He stared about him, seeking out her companion. “Are you alone, lady?”