Demo led him from the site, down to a green meadow where flowed a quiet brook. There he washed the giant's wounds, gave him wine to drink, watched him as he slept.
Like a child Prometheus followed Demo. At first ever watchful, his frightened eyes on the sky. With time he relaxed, only sporadically tensed, glanced anxiously upward.
He did not speak.
He did chores as directed. He searched for berries, edible plants, honey. He fetched water from a nearby spring.
Within the immediate area he worked diligently. He would not go beyond sight of Demo. When he reached a distance that seemed to great he would halt, bow his head, and return.
Broken, frightened, the hero was dead! Only the shell lived.
The wild beast became ever braver. Fire, that strange creature that turned night into day, no longer existed. Mankind huddled by night in their abodes, listening, frightened, at the night sounds.
The wolves became bolder. They hunted in larger and larger packs, killed sheep at will. Soon village dogs became their prey. And children who wandered alone into the night. Even men, traveling alone, were subject to the deadly raid of the wolf pack.
Prometheus and Demo came under attack. They slept in the open, under the stars. Demo woke to hear the call of the wolves as they assembled for the hunt. He grimaced, felt for his bow and arrows.
Prometheus slept. Childlike, he trusted to Demo for his protection.