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The nymphs bestowed upon the hero winged sandals, and he set them upon his feet and flew up into the air. These sandals were of the softest leather of some great beast and feathered with the wings of birds unknown, and Hermes looked down at his own gold-shod winged feet in newly discovered sorrow. He had longed for a companion who could soar with him far above Mother Earth, but Hermes was a god and Perseus destined for mortal heroism and a mortal end. Hermes looked up from where he stood, feet upon the rocky shore, and saw this: a flutter of winged sandals, slim calves below strong thighs that worked with the mighty effort of flight, the draped raiment of a prince clinging tightly to a young body, muscular arms that held Hermes' blade adamantine and Athena's bright shield, and the determined set of a gentle mouth that knew death awaited. He flew with him, unable to look into Perseus' star-bright eyes.
Years later, when heroism and the end had come, Hermes stood on that rocky shore and looked up at the stars where Perseus circled forever in twinkling lights and remembered that one heartbreaking flight. He never wept.