When morning dawned over the sad Theban plain, Lucius and his family were already speeding toward the distant, snow-capped mountains marking their destination. The air was fresh and cold, with a promise of brilliant light throughout the day, the only darkness upon their path cast by their own thoughts as the mule trotted quickly on.
The land rose gradually, and the temperature began to drop little by little, ever so slowly, but enough to chill the bones. Very slowly, the slopes of sacred Parnassus came into view, but even as the red sun began to melt away behind the mountain’s screen, it appeared no closer than before. It was as if the Gods intended all theopropoi, those who wished to consult the oracle, to have ample time to think of why they were there, why they were intending to set fo
