“First,” she went on, “I saw only a golden light upon my path, which followed me and frightened me.”
Even as she spoke, her eyes grew starry and her father caught her shoulder, shaking her.
“No, do not tell me, child. Be still. The dumbness may come again.”
“No, it will not,” she smiled. “Apollo promised.”
“Great heaven, did he speak?”
“Yes, yes.” Then she told as near as she remembered the words of the message. Oracle it could hardly be called, as it was a revelation for her alone.
Theria, daughter of Delphi, begone from my temple. My bow shall not hurt thee, Nay, for I love thee. I shall be able without thee. I shall care for my own.
And how the god had turned and shot his terrible shaft away from her over Mount Parnassos toward the north.
Nikander was uplifted, overwhelmed. He went hastily and fetched tablet and stylus and wrote it down for the temple records. He was hopeful, fairly trembling from what he guessed this message might mean for his daughter’s future. Theria herself thought only of the god’s forgiveness.