"No, nor would I ever be. Ah, were your Father Celeus still living. How proud he would be!"
She filled his pouch with provender for the hunt. Cheese, and fruit, and warm bread she had baked that day. The smell of the warm bread and the sweet spread that coated it, the oranges, made all look eagerly to the meal ahead.
As she tended his meal, frying venison, he took more warm bread from the table, shared it with Rough, and grinned as his mother turned to catch them.
"Demophoon! Shame! Without even asking! Do you like it? Is it good?"
"Mother, your bread is better than another's cake. Isn't it
Rough?"
Rough barked with mention of his name.
Watching him with both amusement and pride as he stalked into the bordering forest, his mother Metaneira noted the approaching storm cloud. She frowned.
With all his strength and courage he was still but a boy. Hopefully he will find a dry cave to shelter in. The rains will be heavy, the winds strong.
Even in the best of weather she felt concern when he went on his sojourns. Too many hunters had gone out, not to return. The Gods of the Forest did not take kindly to wanderers. And they protected their own.
A chill ran along her back, and she shivered.