Chapter Five

I followed her. We stepped across the streams beneath the caves, making our way towards the woodlands that spilled down the mountainside. The trees were denser there, the flowers less bright. The canopy almost seemed to lace over us, dousing us in shadows as we walked. My aunt liked to walk in silence, she said it was how she could best take in her surroundings. I hadn’t always been patient enough to join her in this practice. I remember a time I’d insisted on standing still within pauses of our conversations, but now I had grown to enjoy it. How new riches seemed to come forth each day, ferns uncoiling their delicate fronds, gleaming dragonflies whizzing through the air, wild cherries gravid with fruit, a doe gracefully dipping her neck.

“I’ve got something special planned for today. Your aunt and I think it’s time.”

“Are some of the grapes ripe yet?” It was the first thing that jumped to mind. Perhaps I would learn the art of making wine this season, like my uncle Dionysus had taught them.

“Yes, I think some of them are, but that is not what I meant.” She turned back for a moment to throw me a wry smile. “Typical of you to think of your stomach first.” We walked on, crossing a fallen tree trunk. “We’ll be there soon.”

We greeted a Dryad, Daphne, who was patching a crack in an oak tree. We passed a group of Oreads, who were bathing in a stream. Slowly, but surely, we entered unfamiliar territory. I strained to memorize the way we’d come from. The greens flashed in patterns I didn’t recognize, barks and roots twisted in shapes I’d never seen. We came to a great ash tree that stood just beyond a clearing, a faint creek winding its way around its roots. Oenone reached up and retrieved a pair of bows from a hole in the tree, along with a quiver filled with silver arrows. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked me, her fingers gliding down the bowstrings.

“Yes, they are” I fumbled. I had always anticipated this day would come. After all, Artemis herself had taught the naiads the art of the hunt, so my aunts would have planned this ever since they’d decided to keep me. After all, the down in our pillows and leather of our belts demanded a price. She slung her quiver around one shoulder and handed me a bow. It was quite handsome indeed, with carvings of vines and woodland creatures along its limbs. “Watch carefully,” she told me, as she drew me to her side. “See how gently I’m placing my left palm into the grip? Now gently let the pad of your thumb close over the wood and let your elbow open up.” She knocked an arrow into the bow, and let the tip rest just beyond her index finger. She raised her arm and with one smooth motion delivered an arrow straight into the center of a tree trunk that laid on the ground on the other side of the clearing. I followed her lead, and after I’d gone through most of the quiver, I finally planted one into the wood, not too far from where my aunt had shot. She beamed and rubbed my shoulder victoriously, until something caught her eye. She gestured at a patch of tall grass at the wood’s edge. At first, I did not understand what she meant by this, until a rabbit, its coat gray and unstained, jumped into view.