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promised rain. We took the eastward track downhill. Aura bounded ahead, following her nose. Every now and then she would turn to hurry me on, barking and swinging her tail. I jogged, allowing her to lead, and we went quickly.
    At midmorning we stopped at a stream. Clouds of mist hung in the pines. The forest floor was slick with their needles. Here and there, clumps of white cyclamen, Artemis’ flower, gleamed like fragments of the moon.
    Satisfied that we were well and truly alone, I bathed in the icy water. Once cleansed, I prayed silently to the goddess, dedicating my journey to her and asking for her blessing. “I am yours,” I whispered, as I always did. Then Aura ate a squirrel and we moved on.
    Even in Arcadia we knew of the oracle at Gortys, which was dedicated to Asclepius. Like his father, Apollo, Asclepius was a great healer who could mend broken minds as well as broken bodies. Supplicants to his oracle slept in caves, hoping to receive their cures in dreams.
    Some went for relief, others for answers. Jason had visited the oracle in secret before embarking on his quest. “I dreamed of the Fleece,” he told me, “and of a beautiful, bewitching woman. With two such omens, I came away happy.” In Colchis he had met the woman in his dream, a princess called Medea. She had used powerful magic to help him, and later become his wife.
    I had also heard tales of miracles at Gortys, of the blind regaining their sight, of the palsied rising up and bounding away, and of barren women (it was one of the few oracles where women were permitted) becoming fruitful within days. I cherished the story of a mute boy who regained his speech after dreaming of silver-tongued Apollo.
    I wondered if I, too, might dream of Apollo, for I had spoken little since the Hunt, responding even to Jason with grinding effort. It was as if I were a child again, overhearing the hunters’ talk of what my father had done.
Left her to die.
Didn’t want a girl
. The words, flatly spoken, had so transfixed and bewildered me that I had been mute for days.
    Now, too, I felt wrapped in silence, as if my grief were a heavy, stifling garment I could not shed. I ran on, ignoring my pangs of hunger. I had not eaten since the Hunt, and would not until I reached Gortys.
    In this small way I thought to honor Meleager’s death.

SEVEN
    Early the next morning we waited at the shore for the boat-man, an old fellow as gnarled and squat as a tree stump. He had ferried me across this same deep channel only ten days before, with Ancaeus and Cepheus. Their loud conversation with him had not ceased for all the time of crossing.
    Today it was different.
    Seeing me alone, he was full of questions. I made him understand with gestures that Ancaeus and Cepheus were gone. It may have been this grim news, or the flash of Aura’s teeth when she bared them, but he left us in peace after that. When at last we reached the far shore, I gave him two small game birds in payment; one was for his silence.
    A vast, sandy plain stretched before us. Mountains loomed to the north, with Gortys in the foothills, two days’ walk from here, and two more from home.
    We had much distance to cover, and again Aura set the pace, bounding ahead as if released from a trap. We were soon loping along in unison, enjoying the windy salt air, with its fish-bone-and-seaweed perfume.
    When they saw us approaching, groups of children would run down to meet us, and Aura would circle them, prancing and wagging her tail. They would often try to race us, screaming with excitement when I let them catch up, and shouting in surprise when I shot ahead. At such times Aura would bark sharply, joyously. Like me, she was happiest in the lead.
    After a time I knew only the steady slap of my feet and the pounding of my heart. The waves beat nearby like a soft, insistent drum, and my mind eased, then stilled altogether. I was in motion, but I might have been sitting under a tree, dissolving into the breath of the