AN: And we're back again. Wyvern and the Warhawk proudly present the next installment of the cheerful monster killer and his extended family. Heracleidae has fallen a bit by the wayside over the course of the past year, and we decided that giving it some love and some new chapters would be good.

There's also the urge to get the plot moving and bridge the two sides of the story. And that will start with the arc to come.

Origins VII

Harry Potter

"You really need to work on your punches. Could have broken your thumb."

"Shut up, Potter. I didn't see you jumping in."

The bespectacled boy shrugged, not willing to fight with Draco. Especially since Malfoy probably would punch someone incorrectly and break his thumb, proving the demigod's point for him. Life was simple like that.

"I'm only supposed to do that if you die."

Apparently having spoken a little too loudly, every other student in McGonagall's class turned to look at him.

"That's what the book says."

Sheepish and a bit defensive, Harry glared at the people staring at him. Though the professor also chose to loudly clear her throat, drawing the class's attention back to her.

"I gave you permission to speak while I reviewed this letter, that does not give you permission to gawk. Potter, the headmaster has already punished you, I'll have no more talk in my class about rule breaking."

Looking at Malfoy as she said this, the professor made her point before turning back to the note she'd received in the middle of class. Apparently it was important enough that it needed to be hand delivered by a house elf, sparking more than a little surprise from the muggleborns and some of the Half-Bloods. Knowing it was a lost cause to try and stop them, Professor McGonagall had given them permission to chat.

More relevantly, Harry was just glad she didn't tolerate anything that she thought might be bullying of any form. Hermione was less thankful that the older witch had quite calmly deflected her repeated and urgent questions on the nature of the little creature who had interrupted their attempts to transfigure a doormouse into a teacup and back again - something that had left the halfblood twisting his own holly and phoenix feather wand in figure eights for nearly a minute before his friends had, kindly, pointed out that he was inverting the movements.

"So. Are you going to tell her what she wants to know?"

Looking up, it took the wizard a second to realize that Tracey was pointing at Hermione… who still had her hand up… and was vibrating in her seat… and looked like she might explode soon.

"Umm, can't one of her housemates do it?"

Seamus, having heard this statement, leaned over from the desk next to Harry and Malfoy.

"No."

Giggling, Tracey patted Harry on the back, having brought her chair over to sit with her other friends for a moment.

"You heard the cowardly lions. No go defuse that particular bomb. And maybe ask her how she managed to make her teacup porcelain too."

Finding no help from Draco and that neither Greg nor Vince seemed particularly interested in stepping in - both of them working on their own transfigurations with a quiet diligence - the smallest of the Slytherins ventured forth.

"Hey."

"Hey Harry."

Hermione's hand still hadn't gone down.

"You know you're going to get cramps in that arm, right?"

"It's perfectly ok. I'm sure she'll call on me as soon as she's done reading!"

Unsure what, exactly, he should do, Harry just went with the obvious.

"Hey Ron."

"Potter." Giving him a half glare, half nod of hello, Weasley, Hermione's partner, tried to look a little intimidating. Something hard to do when he was sporting a small black eye. "What do you want?"

Said more out of a mild hostility towards Slytherins than any personal animus, Harry was very good at telling the difference, that just got a wave in response.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Why? So you can mess with Hermione again?"

Confused, the demigod shrugged.

"I thought I helped her back in Professor Binns' class. But no, nothing like that, certainly not here. That would be… how did Professor Snape put it? Ah, yes, that would be most unwise!" Making a vague motion towards where the house elf had appeared, the young wizard continued. "Actually, I was going to try and answer Hermione's question. Draco has one an-"

"Better you than me."

Needing no further persuasion, Ronald withdrew in good order. His notes were hastily stuffed into a bag and inkpot transferred to the very same desk Malfoy sat at. Notably, the blonde Slytherin didn't even object, simply giving him a sneer that led to a jab from Tracey about him needing to go to the little wizard's room. A joke Daphne Greengrass expanded upon by mentioning that he more looked like he'd need a vanishing spell.

That bit of wizarding history was still very, very gross and the half blood was secretly embarrassed that any Englishman would, well, do that.

'But Professor Binns did also tell us about the animagi restrictions and a book Gemma was happy to check out of the restricted section for me, too.'

Shaking his head and putting thoughts of turning into a dragon out of mind, Harry focused on his goal. Helping a friend. Because that's what friends did… for other friends… he supposed. The young man was rather new to the whole having friends business, but with a stiff upper lip the youth plucked up the courage needed to tickle a sleeping dragon and answered Hermione Granger's questions. As best he could.

"So it's called a house elf."

She rounded on him with a speed that made Harry blink in surprise.

"I remember that from Hogwarts: A History. The castle has around two hundred of them that assist with cleaning, cooking, and the sundry tasks of running and maintaining a castle. Additionally, there is a colony somewhere in the kitchens where they set up their own parliament, so I assumed they were a sort of brownie. But it didn't say anything really, only devoting three sentences that covered six lines in total to them. Bathilda Bagshot wrote of them as if they were common knowledge and I couldn't find any other books about them, other than a book on prices. Oh, oh Lord! Are they slaves? How could they be bought and sold! Are we eating food made by slaves? No, no, no I can't be using slaves to do my laundry!"

SMACK!

Slamming the flat of his palm on the desk, the last living Potter made every child in the room jump - even the professor turned to face him.

"Sorry." Sheepish again, he blushed and focused on Hermione. "Look, they're all pretty much treated like another member of the family. And only the worst sort abuse them. Even Draco doesn't hit his - even if the daft thing keeps burning his fingers over the smallest mistakes."

"Malfoy has a slave that tortures itself!?"

Nearly screeching, the muggleborn's cry provoked an annoyed response

"I most certainly do not!"

"That's not what I'm trying to say. Ah, wait, Professor? Can you help."

Looking up, the witch frowned slightly at seeing people having swapped desks. Then, surprisingly, she smiled, or, rather, her lips twitched in the greatest expression of amusement she'd shown in the several months since classes had started.

"Two points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter. One for trying to help a student of another house, one for knowing when to ask for help. But do go on. Ms. Granger, please do your best to let him explain."

With the full force of a teacher's authority on his side, Hermione, as conflicted as she was, calmed down and let Harry do his best. By now it had become the focus of the class once again, too. Thankfully people had the politeness to pretend to not be staring and for that the demigod was most thankful.

"So, let me start from the beginning. House elves aren't human-"

"I know that!"

"Ms. Granger." McGonagall interjected with some force. "Let Mr. Potter speak, he is trying his best."

Blushing slightly in shame, Hermione dipped her head.

"Yes ma'am. So, er, Harry, you were saying?"

"They're a type of faery. Really old, really prone to nabbing kids too - at least before they were bound by Merlin. That's why he's famous, at least one of the big reasons. He enchanted the whole off the British Isles, managed to trick the Unseelie Court, and did it all with a drop of King Arthur's blood, an old menhir, and a pair of oysters. Its how he became the Prince of Enchanters!"

"So, what, they were monsters? But how does that make any of it right?" Forcibly calming herself, the young Gryffindor did her best to stay calm while grappling with the cliff notes version of a story she felt there was far more to. "The slavery, I mean."

At this, Harry had to shrug.

"They aren't human, never were. Plus, this way they get the magic they need to live by bonding to a wizard, or a witch, and best of all a whole family, without needing to kidnap any more babies."

"To elaborate a bit further, for the whole class, I shall speak with Professor Binns about arranging a series of meetings with house elves, as it is more of a topic of history than transfiguration." Clapping her hands, the witch suddenly turned every mouse into a teacup, back into a mouse, and then gathered them up to her desk - where they promptly turned back into a series of small wooden blocks. "Now then, I do think we have had a full class day and, even if it is a few minutes early, I shall release you to your next class. Ms. Granger, if you have further questions you may ask them later this evening, the rest of you - sixteen inches on Gamp's Law and the five exceptions. Dismissed."

"Honestly, the mudblood is a bloody raving lunatic if she thinks any sane wizard would abuse a house elf. They aren't stupid creatures, in fact they're dangerous and powerful and many have a sort of cunning that tends to wait twenty years before getting you in a legendary jam!"

Not looking up from his currently pitiful four inches of parchment work, Harry agreed out of hand.

"Yes, Draco."

"Really! Do all the mudbloods and half bloods think we're lunatics? The goblins had to threaten a war of genocide to stop us from trying to reclaim our banking system, the merfolk sometimes just start drowning people, and the less said about kelpies the better. Now they think we'd go out of our way to make more trouble? Merlin's beard knows I'd never encourage any of the nonsense Dobby gets up to. And not just because it costs dozens of galleons everytime the idiot tries to maim himself!"

There was a small pop and a tiny creature with a massive head and goggling eyes appeared.

"Master called?"

Bowing low, its long, tapering nose scraped against the floor of the Slytherin first year boy's dormitory sitting room carpet, before it - Dobby the House Elf - stood back up. He then eeped upon seeing Harry and tripped over the ankle length, monogrammed, silken pillow case that the tiny thing used as a tunic.

"Hullo Dobby!" Harry smiled at the little creature before holding up a sandwich. "Want one? Greg and Vince picked up snacks from the kitchen."

"Oh, thank you Master Harry, but Dobby can't take anything."

Suddenly bashful, the ugly little house elf lowered its head and seemed far more interested in its feet than anything else.

"Take the bloody sandwich and begone!"

Throwing the ham and cheese at Dobby, Malfoy gave the creature a clear order of dismissal before plopping next down to Harry. Snatching it out of the air, the leathery skinned, goggle eyed creature disappeared with a pop and a snap of his fingers, happily munching on his food.

"Merlin's beard, I swear he's gotten worse since you started being nice to him. The fool thinks he has to burn his fingers if it takes him more than thirty seconds to eat or nails his ears shut if he drops a crumb! Of course, father also says that grandfather… well… you know what happens if dragon pox gets to a wizard gentleman of a distinguished age."

Looking up, Harry tilted his head to the side.

"No, I don't. What does dragon pox do to people? In fact, what is dragon pox?"

"Really Potter, don't you read what I give you?" Rolling his eyes, Draco seemed a little annoyed but more than happily launched into an explanation. "Nasty thing, leaves you green and purple. Your grandparents died of the same bout that killed my grandfather-"

"I had grandparents!?"

"Focus Harry. You asked a question, after all." Clearing his throat, Malfoy took a drink of water and relaxed into the study room's plush chair. "So, it's rather contagious and quite curable, assuming it doesn't get into the spine and the brain. Or, rather, the pox itself will get into one and then inevitably into the other. Older witches and wizards are at a greater risk of that so it's much better to get it young - at our age all we'll do is sneeze sparks for a few weeks. Might stay a bit green for a few years if you're unlucky. But a month of boils and vomiting and you're fine!"

Not particularly interested in anything his friend had to say at this point, Harry let the fellow Slytherin ramble on for a bit longer before making his excuses. After that it was just a quick walk over to the girl's dormitory, a knock at Gemma's door, a round of titters from some of her friends, and he found himself smiling up at his favorite prefect.

"Heyya Gemma!"

Another round of giggles came from behind her as the seventh year looked down at him, a single eyebrow raised, and a sneer as she did her best imitation of Professor Snape.

"You do know you're too pretty to be scary, right?"

Sighing, the young woman gave up and casually flung a few jinxes over her shoulder.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what do you need, Harry? It's the weekend and I was hoping to catch up with a few girls from back home."

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted permission to go see Hagrid!"

Slightly concerned, he had to take a step back when a burly redheaded girl in Hufflepuff robes poked her head up behind Gemma, her grin dangerously mischievous.

"So this is the famous Harry Potter?" The thick Scottish brogue made her sound a bit like Mcgonagall, but it was even thicker, even if she took great care to enunciate each word as she spoke it. "I heard the wee lad was all but courting you. Now he's coming to see your friends? What will Teacher say when she hears about this?"

Interjecting before Gemma could do more than look annoyed and try and force the girl back inside, the halfblood spoke up.

"Sorry for interrupting Miss, but I just found out I have grandparents! Or, well, had. I was hoping Mr. Hagrid would know about them because he was friends with my parents."

Suddenly rather somber, the new girl stopped smirking and gave him a sad smile.

"Aye. Family is important." Stepping out into the hallway, she gave his hair a ruffle and winked at him. "Be careful on the grounds lad. You're about the right size to be snatched up by an acromantula."

Slightly indignant, the seventh year prefect raised her hand in objection.

"You say that like I'm gonna just let him go running off!"

"Are you really going to forbid him from learning about his family when the lad just learned about him?"

And at her redhead friend's words, Gemma slumped and sighed.

"No. I can't."

"Go on then. Walk him down there. I'll keep Tonks and the others from trapping your things… too much."

"Thanks Elspeth."

Chuckling, the redhead just shooed the two of them on, seeming more than a little melancholy despite the laughter. It was enough to leave Harry wondering what memories might have been brought up by his words and, if they were too bad, he felt a bit sorry for doing so. Mostly, though, he wanted to go see Hagrid as soon as possible.

"Thank you Miss Elspeth!"

Waving over his shoulder while walking with Gemma, he got a final wave in and the two Slytherins made good time down to the groundskeeper's shack - the prefect mostly quizzing her charge and making sure he was keeping up on his studies. And it was only after a long battery of rather tricky questions that he was greeted by the broad smile and terrifying rock cakes of his biggest friend.

Well, that and the slobbery hello of the great boarhound Fang.

Hippolyta

Training demigods, despite the mortality rate, was usually a simple affair.

You put them through adversity. You pushed them until they pushed back, and then you smoothed out the rough edges to sharpen their intellect and tactics. Not at all different from honing the edge of a blade, or building upon the foundation of a great monument. You needed to carefully lay out a proper plan, and then steadily follow the steps to forge a warrior capable of surviving in their world.

That was how she was taught by her mother.

And in many ways it was how Chiron the Sage taught his students.

'This is a pleasant surprise.'

Harry, as it turned out, took after his father in many ways.

From the looks of James Potter, to the unnatural strength that had been bequeathed onto Heracles by the deceptions of Athena, the echo of his father was strong in him. Obviously, the young boy was raw and unfiltered in how he fought and how he moved, but there was a certain… grace in Harry Potter's struggles. A weight to each strike and step taken.

The survival instincts of a demigod were working overtime.

No, perhaps this was less his nature as a demigod, and more something he gained from his own personality and the yet to be discovered abilities he'd inherited from the God of Heroes - the demigod who'd slaughtered his way through the monsters of the ancient world and more.

Why, had this been another era Hippolyta was sure the boy would have already made a name for himself. She knew her tribe would have certainly courted favor with him and for a multitude of reasons. The most significant being that Heros were trouble.

'Better to have it pointed away from you, even if that's not everything.' Good as his physical abilities were, the boy's at times… laid back approach to life tended to prove as much of a danger to him as any monster or curse. In fact, the boy seemed to voluntarily walk into situations where he was prone to harm with a cheeriness that had him wondering if Lily Potter hadn't had some form of fey blood to her that accidentally passed down to her child.

He was cheerful.

He was ambitious in a way that the heroes and kings of her homeland had been.

But there was a core difference that made those aspects just as dangerous to himself as they would inevitably become beguiling to others.

And that concerned her.

"Kid."

Looking up from where he'd been doing a set of push ups, the boy who reminded her so much of her lover huffed out a strained breath, though his cheer seemed to encompass even that. And even piling a hiking bag full of rocks onto his back only seemed to make his arms wobble, not his grin.

"Yes, Mrs. Hippolyta?"

She'd take extra care not to ruin his mood.

"I have been told that you suffered an… accident a few days ago." As if to prove her point, she gestured to the boy's hand. Covered in bandages, it wasn't so much to cover up the wounds as it was to keep the salves used to heal the skin that'd been cursed by the goblet the headmaster spoke of. "Frankly, I had thought that you were trying to cover up the seriousness of the burns when you insisted you were ready for today's training. In fact, I expected the pushups to have you in tears. I don't know whether to lash you for being stubborn or for making me feel like a fretting old woman."

As a teacher, the student being harmed during training was a mark of shame.

And she would happily accept whatever punishment came from it.

"It wasn't so bad, just burnt my hand some."

His penchant for downplaying his own misfortunes was endearing, but under these circumstances it only made the sting of shame all that much worse.

"That is not the point. Injuries and fatigue are expected from training, but this wasn't training. This was an act of malicious intent that neither the Headmaster, nor myself could have foreseen. It casts doubt on the school's ability to keep you safe."

The boy shifted with unease, moving the weight of the pack from one shoulder to the other, before continuing the set.

"You… aren't taking me from Hogwarts, are you?"

She wanted to. Gods above and below knew she wanted to summon her chariot and take the boy away from this world of ignorant subpar magic. If their only defense against threats was an old man who couldn't be everywhere, then it might as well not exist for the majority of the time.

He could be tiptoe around.

Schemes could be hidden from him.

Even if his power surpassed Hippolyta's own, there were always ways of bypassing him to hurt her charge. And it was that possibility that made her come to the decision she had.

"Can you kill a monster, Kid?"

The boy looked at her confused.

"What does that-"

She cut him off.

"Could you, if I tossed you out into the forbidden forest, come back while fighting your way through monsters, curses, and what have you? Because that is what this training has always been about, your survival. If Hogwarts is no longer safe to conduct your training, then you should prove you can stay here despite the danger."

Because she would force the issue and drag him out kicking and screaming if she thought it was the better option.

"Well… I do have my detention later on." Blinking, slightly confused, the shade gestured for her charge to continue. "You know I got into a fight, yes?"

"I was most disappointed to hear you had refrained from gutting your enemies, yes."

Only the curve of her lips portrayed that this was a joke, but Harry noticed and beamed up at her.

"Sorry ma'am. I can only do that if my principal dies!"

"Hmm. Perhaps, then, I shall arrange that next time. Now, your detention?"

"Oh, yes'm. Professor Dumbledore told me that Hagrid volunteered to host my detention in the Forbidden Forest and asked if I wanted that or a more normal one. I asked if I could punch a vampire and he said that if I encountered a vampire in the Forbidden Forest that it would be a declaration of war and that I should send up red sparks. At that point I didn't really understand what he was talking about when he tried to explain 'ethno-politics' and 'multilateral treaties', but the important thing is that vampires aren't allowed in the Forbidden Forest."

Hippolyta put her head in her hands.

"Gods dammit boy."

Giggling, Harry finished off the set of pushups, stood up, dusted off his hands, and stood there. All smiles and good cheer. Just… waiting for someone to do horrible things to him.

"Get running."

So, she might as well be the one to do them.

"Today you're learning how to dodge."

Her shifting weapon burst into a small flower of black flames, in its own way more impressive than the normal fire it used to change form back when she was alive, but far too dramatic for her tastes.

"Now dodge!"

A loud blast ripped across the otherwise quiet afternoon of the Hogwarts grounds as she unloaded a blast of rubber pellets right into the demigod's face. Harry managed to take the hit like a champ and fell backwards, rolling over as he did so. This meant her next shot hit the backpack full of rocks and not anything too important. Racking her shotgun, the queen even gave her student the benefit of half a second's warning before opening up again.

The entire school situation was something of a setback to their training, but Hippolyta was willing to indulge the boy's wish to remain at Hogwarts.

For the time being.

Willing the shotgun to become a heavy machine gun, she hip fired at the demigod while he scrambled behind a hedgerow. It was too easy to herd him, even as sprays of rubber bullets harmlessly buried themselves in the ground just behind him, and the old queen drove her prey further out - towards the forest. Keeping the pressure up, she even managed to mix in a few pepper balls and let the stinging weapons smack strike true around his head and chest.

Harry responded by quickly scaling a tree on the very edge of the woods, using the lightly snow covered limbs as makeshift cover.

'He's light on his feet at the very least.' Firing off another blast, the demigoddess sighed as she considered what to do. Obviously the training sessions were a good foundation, but even they would become boring routine and the boy's learning rate would slow down as a result.

He needed more than that.

He needed a challenge!

She wasn't gonna fight him with intent to kill, if only because he wouldn't fight back and she had no convenient island that brought people back to life like that scottish hag. But turning her machinegun into a grenade launcher, she did, at the very least, lay down a cloud of choking gas. Nothing lethal. But more than enough to flush him out of cover. And when Harry dropped down, she snapped up and shouldered a hunting rifle before popping him in the butt for trying to go to ground.

Demigods that stopped moving, died.

Monsters had better senses, more experience, and were usually stronger, faster, or both. Some were even just plain smarter than any human could hope to be. And so a demigod's only hope was to be more cunning, more ruthless, capable of thinking on their feet in a unique way.

It was hard to be unique after four thousand years.

Frankly, the queen was tempted to go the easy route and dig up a quest. Usually, traditionally, young heroes were bequeathed tasks by their parents or some other higher authority like the ancient kings of her time. But obviously there were no Olympians this far away across the ocean, and she didn't trust any of the local deities or spirits to not try something… untoward if given the chance.

'So I'll have to make do.'

But where could she send him to train?

And what could she tell him to do that would push him to get stronger?

The young wizard managed to lose her for a few steps when a hastily made trap brought the pack of rocks tumbling down from the tree he'd tried to hide in. Hippolyta simply leaned out of the way and snapped a kick to the side. It was enough to explode the pack and send the dozens of stones rocketing out and smashing through wood and snow.

"Good try kiddo, but you need to come from more than one angle."

There was no response, as she'd taught him, words were only to be shared with the enemy as a weapon or a distraction in a fight, and the split second distraction had let him slip deep enough into the woods to break line of sight.

'Perhaps one of the Labours?' If she told him to start following in his father's footsteps he probably never would stop, and Hippolyta wasn't sure he was ready for some of the beasts his father conquered. It was too soon. And this meant her thoughts had to chug along as she maneuvered through the bare snow, footsteps nearly silent, rifle lowered but still shouldered.

'Perhaps some other type of fetch quest?'

Would he learn much from it, however? All important relics of Greece, at least the ones that weren't nearly suicide to recover, had long since been moved and sending him on an errand ran the possibility of him facing no opposition unless she requested something particularly hard to find.

But maybe….

Maybe it didn't have to be something?

If she sent him to find someone that he considered important, someone he wanted to meet and talk to, then that would give him all the motivation in the world to get there, and while the perils of ancient Greece had most the most part moved alongside the pantheon, that didn't mean all monsters left.

In fact, there should still be plenty of stragglers left from the time Olympus was located in the Isles and Spain.

And as for the grand prize…

'I'm sure my dear husband will appreciate the surprise.' A mischievous smile graced her regal features.

The Great Hero turned god had been complaining about his routine the last time they spoke, and being on house arrest was enough to drive someone crazy under normal circumstances. So this was likely to make his day, even if he got annoyed with her for dropping it on him. It wasn't everyday that you got a visit from a son you hadn't seen in over a decade, after all.

So while searching for the boy, Hippolyta plotted and schemed.

And most importantly, she decided he was ready for her to aim better.

'No need to make this too easy for the brat.'

If he wanted to prove he could handle a little bit of danger, she was more than happy to oblige.

Movement from her peripheral vision meant she turned, cleanly bringing the rifle to bear and nearly plinking a centaur in the eye. That he was nearly a hundred yards away, through heavy cover would have made little difference to her, but the creature at least had the politeness to bow its head and trot off - no doubt having been drawn to investigate the noise and commotion.

From beside her the snow exploded forwards, the distraction leading her to ignore the too smooth surface, and tiny hands reached for the muzzle of her rifle even as she moved to bring it to bear.

Harry, jerking the barrel down and to the side, found himself surprised when the cold gunmetal turned to smoke. Not so surprised he didn't react when she the weapon remanifested as a machete - the shade already mids troke and aiming to cleanly lop of his head.

Of course it was lazy and slow, telegraphed too, so he shot forward, aiming a punch for the ancient warrior's gut and taking a knee to the nose for his trouble.

"Boop."

Gently bringing the handle of the machete down on the top of the preteen's head, the wizard child having rebounded and tried to bury his fist in the side of her knee, Hyppolyta smiled.

"Dead. But good job today, Harry. You're learning fast. Only a month and you're fighting like an eight or nine year old amazon would." Pouting, the young man did his best not to look disappointed, even as he tried not to get blood from his probably broken nose on his coat, and the shade threw her head back in laughter. "Come here little boy. Let's go get your nose fixed. Then something sweet, I think. How does that sound?"

"Brill-ant!" Voice thick from his broken nose, the young man was all too happy when the undead woman took his hand and Harry eagerly began to babble away about how much fun he'd had.

It made her sigh a bit when she realized something.

'Damnit. I'm already attached, aren't I?'

Something ugly and nasty was coiled up in her belly, a nervousness and anxiety she hadn't felt in more than three thousand years.

'What am I going to do if something kills him? Or worse?'

Just as suddenly, the urge to intensify his training even more had to be strangled. Gods knew she didn't want to turn him into a weapon! But the queen, the dead wife of a god, found her thoughts ever more confused.

'What's enough to protect him? And what is too much?'