And so it was.
Dionysius came with a band of pirates from a peninsula lying far to the west. He came at night, landing on the shores of Greece in the early dawn of day. He killed a soldier guarding that shore.
Dionysius killed without hatred, killed quickly. Some joyed in toying with their victims, inflicting pain. They wished to stretch out the victory. They reveled in the growing fear felt by their opponent. Watching in glee as their opponent realized his impending fate and became increasingly desperate, they delayed the inevitable. Then, when the game began to wear, they cruelly and slowly mutilated their prey. Eventually, tiring of the game, they dispatched the helpless victim.
Dionysius' pirate companions were of such nature. He despised them, traveled with them only for his own ends.
Once they had made shore, dispatched the guard, he left them to their own devices. He began a sojourn to the mountains. To the mountains where lived Demo.
Demo pursued the deer in the foothills. They had migrated down from the mountains during the night. He found their spoor beside a clear branch whose cold waters they had come to drink.
Demo followed the trail from the branch deeper into the green copses. The deer were cautious, kept moving. He pursued them as they drifted toward the distant seaside. At times the wind shifted, and they caught his scent. They scurried quickly into the deeper forest.
He moved carefully from tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping the obscuring bushes between himself and the herd. Finally the distance was right, and he drew his bow.
Even as the arrow flew the deer began to bolt.
Too late for the buck he had chosen! It fell to the ground with a shudder as the arrow entered its heart. He moved forward quickly to bleed the carcass.