When Ethan woke up completely he felt much better. Except for the fatigue that latched on him.

He had woken up at least two times before. He realized whenever he tried to sit up, a sharp horrible pain shot up from his stomach, and he was forced to slam back into the mattress again. For the first time he accidentally tried to massage his stomach – completely forgetting about the deep wound of the ricochet – and experienced a severe aftermath of pain after that. Before blacking out, the heavy thudding of footsteps were followed by a gasp, and the girl came over, muttering her magic song.

"Don't rub," she said, "that wound was fatal. Even now, unhealed, it is capable of re-opening and kill you again."

When he woke up the second time, no one was there. His stomach area was newly bandaged, with a suspicious smell of cinnamon. This time, he took a good look around.

He nearly got a heart attack when he looked above: it glittered in rainbow colours, as pretty as the kaleidoscope he had when he was small, but much prettier considering they looked more like crystals in ice water than just beads/plastics reflected by mirrors. The cave openings were draped with thin white silk-like curtains, flowing with the gentle breeze that drifted from the outside. A large loom and harp was in one corner of the room. Jars of possibly fruit preserves were stacked on wooden oak shelves. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling and the sides of his four-poster bed tester. The smell was grassy yet pleasing. Sadly, Ethan didn't know any of their names except for the milk thistle, thyme, peppermint, basil and aniseed. Oh, and the parsley.

He noticed the fireplace built in one of the cave walls, burning to its heart's content while a pot of water sang (how do pots sing Ethan did not know - he understood kettles, but pots?). Watching the warmth from the hearth, Ethan slowly dozed away while he thought of the possible aromas he could conjure with the bone-warming fire and pot, allowed he could just pluck off some of the dried herbs and – stop! He mentally scolded himself: this isn't his child-time hobbies and errands for Kronos's minions again. Kronos. Kronos?

He fell to sleep.

So when he woke up the third time, he was surprised to see that the scene of the room didn't change. Except for maybe the pot was now boiling some soup or gravy instead of water, and that it didn't sing anymore, thank goodness.

But, he thought, it would come in handy if it were to sing when the gravy was done. That way he wouldn't have to worry about burnt bottoms anymore. No more scratching charred, black things from the bottom.

He was more surprised when the girl – Calypso, you dolt – entered the room holding a basket of herbs and whatnots.

"Oh, my zombie's awake," she laughed at his stunned posture, "I am sorry. Usually I do not use modern words. But since I have the chance to learn I might as well try to use them. Are you sure to be awake, sleeper?"

He shook his head. "I am sorry; I think I've misheard you. Modern words?"

She looked at him helplessly. "It would take long to answer your question. Would you like to know, or shall you eat?"

Just like that his stomach growled. The menace. He turned his face away trying to hide the beetroot that it become, while Calypso was laughing. She sounded so angelic.

"I see your strength has returned a little," she said wiping off a tear, "Sit. I will bring the soup over."

She walked out of the room. He clambered to the side, sitting there. He risked standing, managing to do so with the help of a little support from the cave wall. He risked a few steps forward, and stopped. Just then she came back with a dish in her hand.

"You can walk!" she exclaimed, "It is great to see so. Men always have the impatience to stay still."

She headed towards the bubbling pot. Meanwhile, Ethan was staring at the bronze mirror in front of him, its side to him.

She saw this. "Do you wish to take a look for yourself?"

"So it's a mirror, then?" he thought for a while, "No. I-It's okay."

She nodded. "A wise choice. The last hero looked into this mirror and had a shock."

"Why?" he asked.

"Why, because he was so worn out, brave one," she replied, humoured, "Even by my judging, I can tell he has lost a lot of weight he cannot afford to, so long as he needs to fight, much less stand."

Ethan interpreted this long sentence with difficulty. His brain was slowly de-freezing, and it was irritating since understanding took a longer process.

He found himself sitting at the bed edge. She approached with the plate, a small wooden spoon in her hand.

"Eat," she said, "If it is magic you worry, do not so. I never enchant food."

Gratefully, he took the food and small spoon from her. But no sooner she released he nearly dropped the thing. Thank goodness she anticipated this. Calypso soon placed the food on the table beside the bed.

Ethan was about to look up to say thank you, when he noticed a twist in her face. Like she was trying hard not to laugh. Ethan felt a slight pity. "You can laugh," he said.

She raised her eyebrows.

"You can l-l-laugh…"

He hung his head in sudden embarrassment. Gods, this was more embarrassing than being laughed at. He quickly sipped the soup, and recoiled just as fast. The taste was simple, but damn - it was delicious.

"It's delicious," he said in awe.

Calypso blushed. "I am happy to hear that."

Ethan tried to smile – he then remembers smiling was so alien to him since he hasn't in years - : "Thank you, Calypso."

If anything, she blushed harder, and turned away.

How's that! D I intend to update the third chapter maybe a little late, like two months plus. I WILL finish this story - not giving up ever - but here are two chapters in one go. REVIEWS! If you read it, review - flames or cheers, no problem (though of course I would like to avoid flames - but it's for the sake of improvising things).

~Candle-tender Yena 2012.1.25