Being Human, Part 2
The prospect of a bear is far more exciting than that of a deer.
The Amazons do not often hunt bears. From time to time a hunting party will encounter and kill a bear, but setting out into the forests of Themyscira with the intention of bringing down a bear is a good way to return hungry and empty handed. They are difficult to kill and, especially in the winter, vanishingly rare. It will be spring soon, but it is not quite spring yet.
Trekking through the vast Themysciran forest, Antiope is sweating heavily. She dare not take off her cloak though for fear of cold. While Themyscira proper is close to the warm sea, temperatures drop quickly in the wild land north of the city.
Menalippe has packed enough provisions for only a few days. Antiope takes this as a sign that Menalippe knows where they're going. She Saw that Antiope would be retrieving a bear and not a deer, after all. When Antiope mentions this, however –
"I needed room for rope. If I run out of food, I'll eat yours," Menalippe says. The way she says it, confident as always, it's not clear if she means it seriously or as a joke or both. Having just clambered up a tall shelf of rock, she offers Antiope a hand to help her up. Antiope takes the hand and scrambles along after her. "I know less than you think I know," Menalippe continues. "You give me too much credit."
Antiope pauses to wipe sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and take a gulp of water from her waterskin. They have headed into the foothills, towards the tall Rhodope. The going here is not easy and, if they continue in this direction, will only get worse. "You know where we're going," she says.
Menalippe drinks a mouthful of water from her own waterskin. "No, but there are only so many caves where bears sleep this time of year," she says.
Adjusting how the weight of her gear rests on her back, Antiope grunts. "Whatever you say, my love."
Menalippe tilts her head towards the mountains. "This way."
[] [] []
When they make camp for the night, they do so without speaking. They know their roles. Menalippe works to build a shelter against a fallen tree and Antiope attempts to set a fire. Everything is damp and neither of them has a good time of it. Nothing Antiope does will make her kindling take and, after an eternity of trying during which her fingers grow progressively colder and stiffer, she gives up and goes to help Menalippe heaping leaf litter up.
Dinner is the same as lunch: dried figs, nuts, and cheese. It is nothing as elaborate as what Hippolyta serves in her great palace, but Antiope appreciates simplicity. March food tastes just as good as great platters of richly cooked meats and doesn't leave her unable to move after eating.
When they finish with their dinner, night is falling fast. The tree-cover is dense, the sun is gone from the sky and what remains of light is barely enough to see by. The both of them take their bags and squeeze into the shelter that they have built. The ground is cold and though they've laid a sheet of leather over a leaf floor, neither of them are inclined to lie down. They'll sleep sitting up.
Menalippe wraps her arms tight around Antiope. There's no room tonight for sleep-fighting.
It is hardly the most comfortable of positions to sleep in, but Antiope can think of worse places to be than in Menalippe's arms. She's not comfortable, but she feels good, feels right.
It is Menalippe who breaks their silence, as Antiope is just starting to doze off.
"Do you mind that I waited so long?" Menalippe asks. Her chin is on Antiope's shoulder and her warm breath tickles Antiope's ear. From the sound of her, she has no intention of sleeping soon.
Antiope takes her time in finding a reply. She cannot see Menalippe's face, but she reads her tone well enough. This is not an idle question. Something is bothering her. It would be poor of Antiope not to put care into her answer. However, so tired, her thoughts are slow. Finally, Antiope settles on, "Do you mind that I waited so long?"
"I Saw this shortly after we met," Menalippe replies, voice soft.
This does not refer to sitting huddled together in a pile of damp leaves. It refers instead to… this. "I am glad that you didn't decide to drive me away then and there," Antiope says.
Menalippe lets out a small chuckle. "Never." She squeeze her arms a little, as if she wants to remind Antiope that she has no intention of ever letting go.
"I am quite pleased that you have chosen me now," Antiope says. "Even if it did take you almost ten years."
"My love, I chose to spend my life with you the day we met," Menalippe replies.
Antiope shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. She is very tired from the day of trekking. Even in conversation, she is beginning to drift. "Something is troubling you," she says.
Menalippe is quiet for a time. "Did you ever choose me?" Menalippe finally asks.
Talk of choice – Antiope sets a hand over one of Menalippe's. "Even the gods cannot bend the will of a mortal," Antiope says. Her voice is gentle. "Have faith in me."
"Mm," Menalippe hums. "Always."
[] [] []
When the sun rises, Antiope is cold and stiff and full of cramps.
Eating a handful of nuts as they walk, she complains, bitterly. "My love, I am getting old."
"The gods created us barely ten years ago," Menalippe replies, amusement warming her tone. It warms Antiope too – sparks a bit of pleasant light in her chest. "You are a child," Menalippe concludes.
"Then the gods could have had the decency to create me a younger body," Antiope says.
"Imagine how Hippolyta must feel," Menalippe offers in way of consolation. Hippolyta, firstborn of the Amazons, predates Antiope by a matter of heartbeats and Antiope is senior to the rest of their fellows by the same measure. In the long, dull winters of Themyscira, those heartbeats have spawned almost as many jokes among the Amazons as Antiope's short stature.
"No wonder she hates sitting on the floor," says Antiope. "I hope I never grow that old."
A small snort escapes Menalippe. "And I hope that you do," she returns.
"When I am so old that I cannot move, as my wife, you must take care of me," Antiope says. "It will be your duty."
"And the same to you," Menalippe replies, affection making her voice light.
Antiope grins. "I look forward to it."
[] [] []
The second night finds them side by side, sitting huddled in a rocky outcrop on a hillside. Menalippe has an arm around Antiope's shoulders. They are high enough that Antiope can see out over trees. It is a clear night and the stars are bright.
In the beginning, the Amazons were not all created equal. To some the gods gave great skill in battle. Others were born with great knowledge. And then some had a portion of both.
The gods made Antiope to fight and to lead. When she took her first breath, she knew everything of violence and of war but nothing of the stars. Over the years, though, Menalippe has taught her. It is because of Menalippe's tutelage that Antiope can look up to the sky and see that winter is giving way to spring. But she still does not know every star.
Antiope points to a bright point of light, "What's that one?"
Menalippe squints, trying to follow Antiope's finger up to the vast array above. "The bright one at Orion's feet?" she asks.
Antiope hums, something close to affirmation. She stuffs her hand back under her armpit where it is warm.
"Arneb," Menalippe says. "It's part of the Hare." She raises a hand and points a little bit east of the cluster of stars Antiope has fixed on. "See Orion's dog there? It's chasing the hare."
Antiope makes a face, though in the dark and facing up, Menalippe won't be able to see it. "I didn't like Orion," she says. "What a man."
"No one liked Orion," Menalippe remarks. "Except divine Artemis."
Antiope speaks quietly now. The moon is bright tonight. "She's never had the best taste in men," she says. "Like Hippolyta."
When Menalippe chuckles, so close, Antiope can feel her sides shake. Antiope leans into her, seeking both heat and more of Menalippe's presence. "I'm not sure that divine Artemis has any taste in men," Menalippe says. She pauses, then, "Which might be true of Hippolyta as well."
This draws a great sigh from Antiope. "She has no taste in men, but she has a great taste for them," she complains. So far from Themyscira and with no fear of being overheard, it is easier to speak of these things. "I worry."
Antiope expects Menalippe to assure her that she need not worry.
Menalippe is, instead, silent.
Her silence at this juncture makes Antiope uneasy. Suddenly anxious, she shifts about, then tries to disguise it as a reaction to the chill by sticking ever closer to Menalippe's side. She looks, too, to change the subject slightly. "I do not quite understand what there is to see in men."
Menalippe shrugs slightly. She does not shrug so much that her arm leaves Antiope's shoulders. "It is a form of desire," she says. "And some feel it more strongly than others."
"Do you feel it?" Antiope asks. She is secure in Menalippe's love for her, but she is curious, she thinks.
There is a very long pause. It is not the ominous silence of before though. It is clear that Menalippe is turning thoughts this way and that in her mind. "You know that you are the only one I have ever lain with," she says.
It is a question that does not expect an answer. It hearkens back to a conversation that they had in the first days of their love. Menalippe had freely admitted she'd never been with another, man or woman, and it had unnerved Antiope. She'd experienced a frantic pressure to… to not disappoint.
Menalippe then looked her in the eyes and informed her that she had already Seen that Antiope would not disappoint. Somehow, that had only made the anxiety worse.
"What I feel for others is not what I feel for you," Menalippe says. "And so I think that, perhaps, it is also not what others feel for one another. But I am unsure."
Antiope mulls this over. It is as good an answer as she will get. If Menalippe could give her a clearer answer, Antiope knows that she would. Thinking as she speaks, she begins, "I feel…" She hesitates, choosing her words. "Heat," she says. "Sometimes. For women who are not you, but never for men. But it is… it is like smoke. It has no substance and it passes."
Menalippe presses her lips against Antiope's cheek in a kiss. "You are wood and you are fire," she says.
The sigh that Antiope lets out is nothing but contentment. "As are you, my love," she replies. "As are you."
[] [] []
Instead of traveling farther up into the mountains, Menalippe leads them along a ridge. She says that she doesn't know where they're going, but Antiope nevertheless trusts her to take them where they need to go. She worries that they will soon run low on food and there is almost no forage in the rock-strewn winter hills, but her faith is such that, if Menalippe has Seen them returning to Themyscira with a bear, Antiope knows they will return to Themyscira with a bear one way or another.
They may return very hungry though.
[] [] []
The bear does not materialize until the morning of the fourth day.
The sky is a dreary grey, threatening rain. The air doesn't quite smell like rain yet though, so they still have time. Or perhaps the rain will never come. Antiope doesn't bother asking Menalippe. She can see the future. She can't change the weather.
Menalippe is walking ahead, as always, when her footing slips. One moment she is three paces in front of Antiope and the next she is gone, though Antiope can hear her cursing, somewhere. Her acerbic swearing sounds less injured, less alarmed, and more incredibly annoyed.
She is probably not hurt then.
Antiope lets go of her spear, still resting on her back, and makes haste cautiously. She stops just short of where Menalippe was a moment ago and then peers forward.
Menalippe's voice is coming from a hole in the ground, difficult to see. In the soft morning light it looks more like a step down than a hidden cave.
"Menalippe?" Antiope calls down. The hole in the ground is deep and hidden in dark shadow. She thinks she can make out the top of Menalippe's head, maybe two and a half arm's-lengths down.
"I'm uninjured, merely surprised," Menalippe calls back. She tilts her face up, shielding her eyes from the light with her hand. "Drop me a rope."
Antiope slips her pack from her shoulders and sets it on the ground beside her. "Didn't See the giant pit in front of your face?" she calls down. She kneels and starts searching for a line. The rope seems to have made its way to the bottom of the pack. Typical.
Slightly cross, Menalippe's voice comes up from the pit, "I do live in the present, sometimes. It's..." She trails off, then, "This cave smells like a bear."
Antiope stops looking for rope. Her hand instead goes to her spear once more. "Is it there?"
Silence follows as Menalippe squints into the darkness. "I don't think so, I don't-"
In an instant Menalippe is gone. There's movement, something large, a thunderous crash, more sounds of struggle. It takes less than a heartbeat's time for Antiope to get her spear from her back and shove herself over the side of the pit, dropping down into the dark.
Her feet hit something soft and slippery. Without solid footing, she goes sliding off the back of the bear. Unable to see, she lurches forward, looking for balance. Her face slams into the rocky wall of the cave.
Recovering, her head rings and the dark world tilts.
Focus.
The fight is a mad scramble in the near pitch-black cave. As best Antiope can tell, the bear is a full grown adult. It's perhaps four times her size. From the snarling, she thinks that she is somewhere near its head. She lashes out with the butt of her spear and hits something –
Menalippe curses, loud. "Here," she shouts.
Antiope drops her spear and goes to get a handful of the bear's fur with her left hand. She punches with her right hand, hard, in the direction of her fistful of bear. "Here," she grunts.
The bear turns and Antiope is rammed into another wall of the cave. Now it's the back of her head that cracks against stone. Her vision fills with false light. She keeps ahold of the bear.
"Here," Menalippe calls. She's moved, she's farther away from Antiope now, somewhere off to the left. Antiope punches out again. She hits something and from the way her fist slides slightly she thinks it might be the bear's neck. Her next blow catches the bear in the ear. It roars, savage.
Again, the bear slams Antiope into the cave wall. This time, she loses her grip. She slips to the ground. Instinctively bringing her hands up to shield her face, she manages, "Here."
Antiope hears the snapping of wood. A spear, maybe hers, maybe Menalippe's, has broken.
Menalippe bellows, guttural. Pain. Anger. She's hurt. Antiope's heart, already racing, leaps into her throat. She staggers to her feet and stumbles towards the noise. She bumps into the bear again. This time, she brings a knee up and drives it into the animal.
The bear snarls. Antiope snarls back. The beast has hurt Menalippe. Antiope will rip it apart with nothing but her hands if she has half the chance. There's a sound of shifting and Antiope has the impression that it is facing her now. A clawed foot slams into her torso. Her thick cloak stops her from being ripped open, but she's still thrown into a wall and she's confident something bad has happened to her chest.
Without time to recover and orient herself, Antiope rolls across the stone floor of the cave, throwing her arms out for some sense of her surroundings. "Here," she gasps.
"Here," Menalippe returns, voice hot with fury. She suddenly sounds close. As she speaks, her voice moves, she's crossing the cave - there's a crash, then an enraged animal noise.
Antiope thinks that Menalippe has rammed herself into the bear.
Antiope's hand finds the haft of a spear. From its weight, it's one of the broken pieces. "Here," she snaps quickly. She needs to know where Menalippe is. Now.
"Here," Menalippe growls back.
Antiope stumbles forward, brandishing her makeshift club in one hand and keeping the other hand blindly outstretched. Her empty hand bumps into Menalippe's shoulder. Menalippe's shoulder is pressed up against coarse bear fur.
Menalippe is wrestling the bear.
Good. Excellent. Yes. Antiope knows where Menalippe is and the bear is somewhat restrained.
Keeping one hand on Menalippe's shoulder, she lashes out with her broken spear-turned-club She catches the bear in, judging from the give, what is likely the face. There's a roar of startled pain. Antiope takes this as encouragement and strikes out in the same place. She beats the bear again and again and again until she can't hear the thing moving anymore. At some point she lets go of Menalippe to swing her club with both hands.
When she's done, her arms are so heavy she can barely lift them anymore.
It hurts to breath.
The bear is subdued. Whether or not it is still alive – this is uncertain but also certainly not as important as the fact that it is not moving.
Antiope lets the broken spear slip from her fingers and roll across the dark cave floor. She drops to her knees. Her head swims. "There wouldn't," she starts. She has to stop, to catch her breath again. She closes her eyes. They're not much use in the dark anyway. "There wouldn't have been a bear if you hadn't come and fallen down a hole," she says.
Menalippe grunts. She is in pain but her voice is strong and the strength of her comforts. Her hand finds Antiope's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Aren't you glad I came?"
The corners of Antiope's mouth tug up into a faint smile. "Always glad when you come," she says.
Antiope is almost surprised when she isn't immediately thwacked in the face with a pillow.
[] [] []
Getting back out of the cave is far more difficult than falling into it was. That Menalippe fell in with her pack is a boon. As the only one of them who set out knowing they were bear hunting, she was the one carrying most of the rope. They use as much as they can spare to truss up the animal. When they are confident that it will not be able to escape its bonds, they maneuver to the thin shaft of light that marks the entrance to the hole. There is likely an easier way out, somewhere, but neither of them are inclined to go crawling through the small corners of a dark and unknown bear den.
Menalippe climbs up over Antiope, standing briefly on her shoulders before getting ahold of the ground above and pulling herself out. As she passes over Antiope, something wet drips onto Antiope's cheek. Antiope touches it, gets it between her fingers. Even without looking at it she knows that it's blood.
Up on the surface, Menalippe takes a rope from Antiope's pack and throws it down. Antiope secures the rope to the bear, then uses it to climb up and out of the pit. She takes Menalippe's pack with her. Her chest, the lower part of her chest and the upper part of her abdomen just over the ribs, protests every inch of the way. It's more of a dull pain than a sharp pain though and so she thinks that it is not so serious.
She worries that the same cannot be said of Menalippe's arm. Deep claw marks split skin and muscle and dirt has gotten rubbed into the wound. In the light of mid-morning, Antiope hopes that Menalippe's injury looks worse than it is. It looks a complete mess, the kind of thing that she'd order a warrior off the field over.
Menalippe sees where Antiope's eyes have gone to. "Bear first," she says.
Antiope presses her lips into a tight line. "You first," she says. She tries not to wince at the pain speaking causes. She does a poor job of it. Menalippe's eyes narrow.
"Bruised," Antiope grunts. "Not broken." When Menalippe continues to stare suspiciously, she adds, "Faith."
Shaking her head, Menalippe shoves some of the rope towards Antiope. "Bear now," she says. When Antiope doesn't immediately take the rope, she reiterates, "Now."
Grunting unhappily, Antiope takes the rope.
Even working together, hauling the bear up out of the pit is extremely difficult. If they were women born of mortal mothers they would likely be unable to get the thing lifted at all. The beast is heavy. When they finally have it up under the light of day, Antiope sees that she underestimated its size. It is five times as large as she is, at least. No wonder the cave felt so small.
"You now," Antiope says.
Instead of acquiescing, Menalippe sets to using the rest of their rope to further secure the bear. For all the beating that Antiope gave it, it's starting to wake. Before it can come to, Menalippe muzzles it.
Menalippe was probably right to see to the bear first.
While Menalippe works, Antiope takes bandages from their provisions. She can use water from one of their waterskins to wash Menalippe's wound. She is concerned what they have won't be enough. If she needs more water then there was a creek that they camped near the previous night, but it was some distance back. She'd like to get the wound cleaned and bandaged as quickly as possible and then not disturb it.
Only when Menalippe is satisfied that the bear is properly secured does she allow Antiope to fret over her arm. Cleaned, it's clear the wound doesn't reach bone. It is a flesh wound then, but they are a very long way from Themyscira and proper treatment. Menalippe tries to tell Antiope that it looks far more grisly than it is. This is not terribly reassuring as 'not as bad as it looks' is a low bar indeed. Antiope is highly suspicious when Menalippe insists it doesn't hurt.
Antiope patches Menalippe up as best she can and wishes dearly that she could do more.
[] [] []
Hauling the felled bear makes for slow travel. Because they would like the bear to still be alive when they return, they have to be somewhat gentle with it. They cannot, for example, simply drag it over rocks.
Though, as Antiope sees things, considering what it did to Menalippe, if they dragged it over rocks, the bear would deserve it.
Muscles straining, they carry it down the ridge to where the forest begins. Menalippe cuts a young tree and they rig the bear to the resulting pole, then set the pole on their shoulders.
Throughout the process, the bear is less than pleased. It twists this way and that fighting its bonds, and this slows them even further.
With the bear thus suspended, Menalippe leads the way, as always, through the forest. With the pole, the task is not so fraught as carrying the animal in their hands. It is still difficult going though. The bear does not like being trussed up and continues to struggle mightily, sometimes threatening Antiope's grip on the pole.
Antiope does not much like the thought that they must traverse all the distance that they came on the way out as they return. With her injury, breathing is painful and every time the bear so much as twitches the tree they're carrying it jams painfully into her shoulder, causing further discomfort to her everything.
But it is all a challenge and she is always one to rise to challenges.
She grits her teeth and marches.
[] [] []
That night, they ration their food. Fighting the bear and then hauling it was hungry work. Either of them could easily eat all that they still have and still want for more. In truth, they should have been more conscious of their provisions on the journey up to the ridge, or at least made more of an effort to look for whatever roots might have been edible along the way. That it is the end of winter is no excuse for not making an attempt to forage.
Both of them knew better.
As they divide out their food evenly between them, they say little. They are both bone weary.
Antiope does not miss that Menalippe shifts more food into Antiope's portion when she thinks Antiope has looked away. It would be bad form to object, though the thought does cross Antiope's mind.
The one upshot now is that the bear is quite warm and they can sleep against it. It grunts a little, but for the most part it has given up fighting them.
[] [] []
The second day with the bear is misery incarnate. The morning starts with everything smelling like depressed bear and then shifts into everything smelling like coming rain. In the forest it's hard to see the dark clouds forming, but as the light dims, Antiope knows that a storm will soon be on them.
It will not be pleasant. There's nothing they can do about the weather though. They could always pray, but warding off rain is a poor use of the gods' favor.
It starts as a drizzle just before midday and turns to a downpour quickly. Antiope's cloak is soaked through before long, as is the bear. Carrying so much water-weight is difficult, even for her. Moreover, it's the day after being thwacked in the chest by an enraged bear and the second day is always the worst - one hopes.
She is distantly aware that the prudent course of action would be to abandon the bear and finish the trek back to the city that much faster. It is a very, very distant awareness. However, it grows closer as the day wears on.
Throughout the trek, they say almost nothing to one another. They would have to shout to be heard and that would take more energy than they can spare.
That night, sitting on watery leaf-litter huddled beneath a tree next to their bear, Antiope broaches the subject. "We don't need a bear," she starts. Around them, the rain continues to fall. She is almost fearful of Menalippe's answer. She's grown rather attached to their bear and she'd like to see Hippolyta's face when they come home with it.
"We have a bear," Menalippe replies, which is the right answer, in Antiope's opinion. She sounds a little cross that Antiope even suggested leaving the bear behind.
There's silence for a while, then, "Do we need to abandon our bear?" Menalippe asks. Her voice has shifted slightly from cross to worried.
Antiope shifts, testing the movement of her torso. It hurts, but it's tolerable. "No," she says. "We can keep our bear."
"Are you sure?" Menalippe has quickly devolved from worried to guilt- and anxiety-stricken.
Antiope leans over and kisses Menalippe on the cheek.
[] [] []
When morning comes, Antiope has slept poorly, or not at all. She's not sure which. She has a sense that she spent the entire rain-drenched night weaving in and out of wakefulness. A certain amount of embarrassment forms in her gut. Her restlessness probably kept Menalippe up, if the rain didn't.
Following an unspoken agreement, they eat the last of the food that they brought with them. It's too miserable of a day to do anything but. The rain is still falling, steady.
It will not be the first time that they've marched on empty stomachs and Antiope suspects it will not be the last. Such is life, such is war. At least at present they know that Themyscira is no more than two days away. The hunger comes and then, for a time, it fades as her stomach becomes accustomed to being empty.
They have both been through worse – alone.
Today, on this day of rain and bear, they are together.
That's all the sun Antiope needs.
She would not object though if Apollo chased away the storm above.
[] [] []
From time to time, Antiope wonders if she should ask to stop. As the sun begins to dip down in the late afternoon, her head begins to grow light with hunger. The world looks a little bleached out, faint, almost.
Every time she considers asking to stop, however, she decides against it.
She doesn't need to.
And as long as she believes that she doesn't need to, truly believes, Menalippe can't be mad at her.
[] [] []
That night, Antiope eyes their bear. Marching without food has taken a great toll on her strength. She feels empty, worn out, sapped of herself.
"We could sacrifice it now," she suggests, speaking slowly, attempting to pretend that she has not been thinking about eating their bear for the better part of the afternoon.
"No, Antiope," Menalippe sighs. Sitting on their leather sheet with her back against the bear, she pats the ground next to her, indicating that Antiope come join her. The rain has finally stopped and the sky has cleared but the ground is sodden.
Morose, Antiope sits. Behind her, the bear groans.
"We could sacrifice it a little bit," Antiope suggests. She doesn't know what sacrificing an animal a little bit would look like, but she's sure Menalippe could figure something out.
Menalippe points up through the trees towards the clear night sky. "You see that rectangle of stars over there?"
Antiope looks towards where Menalippe is pointing. "It's the big bear." From where she sits she can make out a bit of the tail, but the legs and snout are hidden by the trees. Antiope knows full well that Menalippe is trying to distract her. She is not so easily steered. "I'll bet it's tasty."
"The bear's name is Callisto," Menalippe says. "She was one of divine Artemis' followers, beloved by Zeus."
"He turned her into an animal to get her away from another man, didn't he," Antiope says, somewhat warily.
Menalippe hesitates. Then, "Hera did it because she was jealous... But it's better than becoming a tree, isn't it?"
"Nothing good ever comes of father Zeus sleeping around," Antiope remarks. "Poor Artemis."
"Zeus put Callisto in the sky when her son was about to kill her," Menalippe tries.
"Are you trying to defend him?" Antiope asks, voice dry. "You're not doing a very good job, my love."
"Hera found out what Zeus had done and asked Tethys never to let Callisto rest in her waters," Menalippe continues.
Antiope turns slightly and directs her next words to their bear. "I am sorry we are going to sacrifice you," she says. "It must be a hard thing, being a bear. But I am sure you will be very tasty." Antiope reaches over and gives the trussed up bear a pat.
Menalippe's sigh is one of utter defeat.
[] [] []
To sleep with hunger is not an easy thing.
Antiope does not sleep.
[] [] []
The next morning, when Antiope returns from relieving herself, she finds Menalippe still seated next to the bear. Her eyes are closed. Antiope frowns. "My love?" she asks.
Menalippe doesn't answer.
Antiope finds a tree to lean against. She rubs her hands together, trying to bring warmth to them. Menalippe is looking for something in the future. There's no telling how long she'll be, but if Antiope sits now she likely won't get back up.
After a good long boredom, Menalippe opens one eye. "Hippolyta is sending people to find us. We have been gone far longer than it takes to catch a deer. We'll wait here for them."
Antiope's frown deepens. She crosses her arms. "I want to go back to Themyscira carrying our bear. I do not want to be carried back with our bear." On some level, of course, she knows that, hungry and sleepless they are in no condition to continue marching dragging their bear along with them, but she has her pride. She's grown very attached to the idea of a triumphant return to her sister.
Menalippe opens one eye and fixes it on Antiope. "You are injured and need to rest. It is bad that you've come even this far. They're bringing horses with them."
Antiope stretches her arms out and forces herself not to wince at the way her entire torso aches. She hasn't taken off her shirt and cloak since they left the city. If she did so now, they would reveal a vast expanse of ugly bruising. "I feel fine," she lies. She amends, "Better than yesterday." This, at least, is true. Maybe.
She's slightly less damp than yesterday. And so, Antiope reasons, she is better than she was.
Menalippe opens her other eye. She doesn't say anything. She just stares.
Antiope pulls her mouth into a smile. "Never better," she says. Her traitor stomach chooses that moment to growl so loud that surely any search party within a mile must have heard it.
Menalippe crosses her arms over her chest in such a way that her bandages, crimson and soggy, are clearly visible. "I am injured and need to rest," she announces.
There's a heavy pause.
Then, Antiope stomps over to Menalippe and sits down violently. "You don't play fair," she laments.
"No, I don't," Menalippe replies.
[] [] []
The day passes agonizingly slowly.
Looking for a deer – or a bear – was supposed to cure Antiope's boredom.
And yet now she sits bored once more. This time though, instead of going to her lochagoi, she has Menalippe.
"Are they here yet?" Antiope asks for the seventeenth time. She was hungry last night, she was hungry this morning, she is hungry now. She is filled with the sort of restless frustration that comes with having a goal but making no progress towards it. She does not like waiting.
"No," says Menalippe. When the gods were handing out gifts, they gave Menalippe an abundance of patience and Antiope none at all.
Antiope waits a while. Then, "Are they-
"No," says Menalippe.
"Are you sure they're-"
"Antiope." Her tone brooks no dissent. The gods gave Menalippe an abundance of patience. 'An abundance of patience' is not always enough.
Antiope's teeth click as she closes her mouth. She pulls her knees up close and sets her chin on them. She puffs out her cheeks. She exhales. She fidgets in every way imaginable as she sulks.
After a time, Menalippe reaches over and grabs Antiope's knee, which she's been wiggling back and forth. Antiope stops moving that knee and starts moving the other. Menalippe shifts and grabs Antiope's other knee.
In contrast to Antiope's anxious need to move, Menalippe's hunger and exhaustion manifests as lethargy. Antiope is disturbing her peace and she has nowhere to escape to.
"I've seen you execute ambushes," Menalippe says. She is less than amused.
"I want to carry our bear home," Antiope replies.
Menalippe sighs. "Why don't you come up with a name for the bear?"
Antiope pauses. She shifts, twisting her torso so that she can examine the bear. She ignores the pain the movement causes because delivery is everything. "It's grouchy," she says. "We should call it Hippolyta."
Menalippe lets out a noise that is something between choking and laughter.
Pleased with herself, Antiope grins ear to ear. "I deserve a kiss," she says.
Menalippe agrees.
[] [] []
They are still kissing when Philippus arrives on horseback with several other Amazons behind her.
Philippus surveils the scene before her. "We've been looking for you all day," she says dryly.
Antiope pulls away from Menalippe reluctantly. There will be more time to kiss Menalippe later, she supposes. Focusing on Philippus now, she arches an eyebrow. "What took you so long?"
Philippus ignores her strategos and looks to Menalippe. "That is not a deer. You could have warned us."
Menalippe shrugs. "Four legs," she says. "Fur. It looks like a deer to me."
Antiope picks up two sticks from the ground and holds them over the bear's head like antlers. She bestows upon Philippus her most winning smile.
Philippus pinches the bridge of her nose. "Let's get you two home then…"