“But instead he said nothing. He knelt to gather a single gilt-red feather from the ground, remembering Lampetia’s request. “Phaeton, everyone knows you’re just another wool comber,” continued Epaphus, using the phrase for a housebound man of little adventure. “And the offspring of a peddler, or maybe a wandering goatherd.” At that, the young hunter drew his knife, and cut the griffin’s throat. The assembly of field hands and house servants fell silent at the insult they had heard. Only Merops’s... habitual even temper kept him from striking the young archer – this offense to Clymene and her son was beyond bad manners. Even so, the good-tempered landowner grew stiff and pale. Show none of your troubled pride, Phaeton cautioned himself. Dignity answers the jeer. It was a line from an old fable, the hard-laboring ant mocked by the lounging grasshopper. It was true that a quiet reserve was admired by man and god alike. The veteran Aristander shifted the heavy helmet back from his face and offered, in a halting effort to soothe, “Certainly, my friends, both lads may be the sons of one god or another.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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