If only I could soar up to those heights and touch them! He thought as he lay beside his fire, his sword, shield and spears close by him.
The next morning, as the mist rolled around his sleeping form, Bellerophon’s eyes opened slowly. He was surprised not to have dreamed that night, but rather to have slept soundly, unusually so. The sounds about him were different from the palace at Corinthos, the smells too, and all of that newness brought a hint of wonder.
He sat up suddenly when he saw a pair of eyes staring at him from behind the broad trunk of an aged olive tree. He reached for his sword and held it out at his observer.
“What are you doing?” Bellerophon asked. “Come out from there!” He stood, his limbs suddenly alert, ready to pounce.
“There is no need for your weapon,” said a va
