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The god appeared to her when she was kneeling and covered in blood, a strange combination of piety and sacrilege. Maddened like Agave, a murderer through a god’s love, rather than his hate.
Why are you crying, he asked. What’s there to cry about?
I loved her, as a friend, very much, she replies. Him, she thinks. She would have to get used to that. He was a man, and she had killed him. What had come over her? She had been standing knee deep in the water, and had run for her spear. She had felt vulnerable, but he is the one bleeding. Spear wound in his chest, his neck, his groin.
He might have hurt you. I protected you.
A bitter laugh curled from her throat. He never hurt me. Protect me? You maddened me, made me kill him. How could you?
The god looked surprised, almost hurt. I love you, he says.
An alarming three words. Dangerous words. She had sworn off men. The idea of sleeping entwined with anyone – let alone a man – disgusted her. She could not bring herself to do it.
She said no. The most dangerous word of all.
She ran. He followed.