Chapter 17The scent of wildflowers from a nearby glen dragged the bile up Hera’s throat. Crickets sang in chorus, doves accompanying them with their cooing. The din made her ears ache. Green light pierced the forest canopy, illuminating the stones on the track ahead. This island seethed with life, warmth clinging to her skin.
It was wrong, all of it.
Silence and chill should have filled these woods, the sharpness bringing clarity of mind. Only fools cursed the winter, for darkness allowed new growth. All life arose from decay. This mindless expansion would leave the soil depleted and dry, unable to nurture any living creature.
But that was Aphrodite all over. No thought to the natural order, no plan for the future. Her passions dictated her policy.
Hera seldom came to Kythira. Last tim
