The morning dewdrops came fresh and cold at the crack of dawn, taking the first opportunity to attack Melantriche's face, causing her cheeks and nose to grow red from the sudden freeze. A damp fog surrounded the tiny camp, enclosing everything in a thin layer of moisture. Usually, when the sun rose, it would illuminate the dews that settled upon the grass, and they would shine and glow like diamonds. At least, that was what Lyra had always told her.

Lyra.

Melantriche shivered, shutting her eyes even harder. She'd dreamt of her all night—well, all early morning. The 3 of them, Melantriche, Aegeus, and Aglaia, has spent much of their spare time fleeing. They could not risk anyone seeing them, god or no god, so they refused to light a lamp until they were deeper within the woods, where the brush was thickest. It was remarkable, really, how Aglaia could guide them through such darkness without missing so much as a step. Or maybe she did trip and no one saw, because, well, it's dark. Aegeus was just as sure-footed, it seemed. He tripped about 2 or 3 times—Melantriche was sure of this because she stumbled into him when he did—but otherwise, he was as nimble as a fox. Impressive, for such an enormous man. Melantriche, on the other hand, had no such luck. She tripped so much that on the way, one of her sandals had fallen off, and her feet were sore from running on sharp pine needles. In the dark, she cried out from the sharp slaps of fern leaves around her ankles and the large bugs that flew into her face, and for that, Aglaia snapped at her many times.

It was hours before they stopped to rest in a small clearing. As Aegeus built a meager fire and Aglaia brandished multiple cloaks out of nowhere, Melantriche stopped to rest on a rotted out stump, careful not to let her butt fall into the indent. She was sweating buckets; she'd never had such exercise before. She wrestled herself out of the scratchy peplos Lyra made her wear so that she would no longer be trapped in stuffy heat. Looking down at her now exposed arms, they had become a hearty pink and were sticky and damp from sweat. Turning the other way, she lifted her skirt to see the damage which had been done to her legs. Thin strips of red lined her calves and were starting to rash. The bottom side of her feet were filthy and green from the forest floor, and countless little gashes made themselves apparent by oozing black blood from deep within her skin. The edges of her toes were startlingly red and stung when she touched them. She whimpered softly to herself. In her daydreams, she fantasized that she was a man who had many friends to hunt with and to run around naked, completely unabashed in the woods, the way that the maenads did. It was a shameful dream, maybe, but not nearly as stupid to match as it was now, since Melantriche had gotten her taste of true nature. She hated it. She hated bugs and she hated summer and she hated pine trees and ferns. If she had to go through anymore of it tonight, then she was sure that she would die. Luckily, it seemed that they really were stopping for the night, seeming as though the fire was growing ever larger. She saw the glow reaching the farthest reaches of their encampment, but even so, the fire should not have felt this hot on her skin... Melantriche turned around halfway before she froze.

Aegeus. His attention was no longer on the fire but on her. He was examining her features with, seemingly, an artist's touch. Even as she met his gaze, he didn't shy away, but looked her up and down, from her enormous brown eyes to her plump red lips to her flushed cheeks to her impossibly black hair, falling around her face naturally, in snake-like curls. His pupils seemed to grow sharp as his stare reached her legs, revealed by her uplifted skirt. He scrutinized it all, from her perfectly plump white thighs to her slender legs and her dainty toes, the slices of red skimming them making her seem all the more tangible. Hot-faced, Melantriche yanked down her dressing and stood abruptly, and only then did he look away, with only a silent, meager apology passing his lips.

She sat closer to Aglaia, even though the woman was chatty and sharp-worded. She complained of the infernal heat and the mosquitoes and the consistency of the bread which she'd passed around the fire. That, along with a slice of sheep's milk cheese and a few fermented olives. It was true, the bread was uneven and stale, and obviously not the kind of bread Aglaia baked. Even so, Melantriche didn't really care because she hardly had any appetite, so she just wanted Aglaia to shut up for a little bit. Personally, she disliked old Aglaia and her constant whining, and she disliked Aegeus too, for his shameless ogling that she still had not forgotten.

She had no idea what Father had planned for her. Would she be watched over by these 2 unlikable people for the rest of her life? Or would they simply watch over her until they found that she had been able to settle into a relatively peaceful environment? Or—gods forbid! When Leida said that Aegeus would take care of her, did that mean he be authorized to wed her? Was that perhaps why he'd leered at her so brazenly? The thought! Melantriche shrunk into herself and tried not the stare at him over the other side of the fire. She definitely didn't like him. He was old-looking and ugly and had too many scars. He had enormous gnarled hands that made him look like the type that enjoyed hurting people. He was unnaturally silent and he was like a shadow over her, making her feel the utmost uncomfortable when he was near.

At Aglaia's sudden remark that they had forgotten to bring wineskins, Melantriche realized that although she wasn't hungry, she was certainly dehydrated. Also, she was desperate for an excuse to be away from her 2 companions. She stood up and insisted that she go to fetch water from the lake, and Aglaia only scowled at her.

"There's nothing to hold the water in, you silly bosom!"

"My shield." The 2 women jumped at the sound of Aegeus' deep voice which shattered the midnight silence. He spoke again, "Use my shield."

"A shield is too shallow to carry water in, you fool."

Aglaia shrilled, but she quickly had a change of tone when a dangerous look of annoyance flashed across the soldier's face.

"Don't you raise your voice at me, hag. You're not a free woman yet."

"I will be," she shot back, though not as loud as before. "When Lady Melantriche is taken to the village, I will be."

He ignored her completely as he stood, grunting like an old man before brandishing his shield. And he was right, it was a large bronze one with leather covering the back, some bull horn outlining the edges. It was thick and had a wide concave deep enough to haul some water in. He came toward Melantriche and held it out to her with both hands, his eyes holding some kind of softness as he looked down at her. Feeling like a sore thumb, Melantriche took it, flinching when he said in a gentle voice, "Careful with it."

"Thank you," She replied stiffly before turning on her heel towards the lake, trying not to reveal the fact that the shield was surprisingly heavy. With a sulking grumble, Aglaia followed close behind her.

When Melantriche reached the lake she kneeled down at its edge. Without the moon to illuminate off of it, it seemed like a veritable churning black hole, causing Melantriche to become slightly hesitant before dragging her thin fingers across its surface. Much to her delight, it was safe, and pleasantly cool. Without any more delay, she cupped her hands to splash her face with the water, washing away all the sweat, dirt, and oil. It was heavenly. She repeated this a few times before running her soaked hands over her arms and sweltering neck. Finally she cupped her hands once again, filled with a hearty measure of water and bent forward to drink it. But just as the feeling of moisture touched her lips, a sharp pain suddenly appeared on the back of her head, so impactful that she stumbled and almost fell into the water. Grasping for her now aching head, her eyes shot up to see Aglaia exclaiming something that, for a brief moment, was incoherent in Melantriche's stunned ears.

"Don't drink that, you foolish chit!" Aglaia hissed as she yanked the shield from her. "Don't you even know that you can get ill from unclean water? You have to boil it first!"

Melantriche stared at her dumbly for a moment before standing up. Aglaia was a horrible person. For a slave she was completely out of line, and, if she was still back at her father's residence, she would not be acting this way towards Melantriche. Aglaia had struck her and meant it. Aegeus was right when he'd said that she wasn't a free woman yet, still she acted as if she were one. Melantriche was indignant, on the verge of tears, almost. Even though she knew it was weakness, she always cried when she was upset. What right had Aglaia to be such a horrid person, slave or no? It was unjustly.

Maybe it was the apparent look on Melantriche's face that made Aglaia so suddenly meek, but the woman's face quickly relaxed into a gentle smile.

"Please, don't misread me, Lady. I don't mean to be curt, truly I don't. But your health is top priority, and I must do whatever it takes to make sure you are safe. I've always been a mean woman, it's just the way I am, so don't feel like I dislike you. You're just a dainty little sprout, so it's not your fault you don't know how to prepare water. I reckon hardly any men do, and that's why there's so much illness in war."

Sweet words. Honey words, Melantriche knew, but she kept quiet anyway. Melantriche, being parched, exhausted, frightened and irritable, had a strong desire for silence.

Instead, Aglaia droned on. "Ah, but it's too much of a shame, isn't it, Lady? That that Lyra girl had to go and die? 'Tis a shame, truly it is. Personally, I always thought she was a strange girl. A bit annoying, really, since she always had her head in the clouds. Always goin' on and on about the dreams that she had for the future. And I always thought, we're slaves, in't we? We shouldn't have dreams! It's better if we don't, so that we don't hope for nothin' beyond our reach."

"Lyra wasn't annoying." Melantriche said coldly. "She was brilliant. She always worked her hardest. She had wonderful dreams and she never lost her temper with me, unlike you. I loved her."

"Oh, I'm sure you did, pretty child. I meant no offense. In fact, I was about to say that I liked her! That's why I said it was a shame, see. Even though she was all too much of a peppy chatterbox, it was nice to hear her tell stories, and she was a tidy little lass too. When she told us all that she meant to sacrifice herself for you, I felt awful for not getting closer to her sooner. Ah, well, I guess there's no point in dwelling on anything now, hm?" She finished washing her face and, as she fetched the water, she gave Melantriche an almost sympathetic look over her bony shoulder. "I tell you, though: there's no point in blaming yourself either. People do just what they please, be it dying for someone or no, and nothing you can say with change their minds. To feel guilty is human, but to weep about it the rest of your life just shows that you're pig-headed. You understand, girl?"

Melantriche nodded slowly, and quietly, after a moment of thinking, she murmured, "You said that having dreams is stupid, but I don't think so. I think that without dreams, we would have no resolve to do anything, and nothing to live for."

"A wiseman's daughter indeed!" Aglaia cackled. "Yes, I suppose you're right some, Lady. Without dreams, the Trojan War would have never occurred! Without dreams, Queen Helen would've never abandoned her home country for a foreign coward. Without dreams, men wouldn't have ever fought our wars, dreaming of the glory that they'd reap, the women they'd rape, the riches they'd gain, even if it ended in the death of millions!"

"You're making fun of me." Melantriche muttered. "Mock all you like, old woman, I don't care. And believe all you want, too. You only say that because you have no dreams."

"And you do?"

"I do." Melantriche said simply, and she turned away towards the camp. She did have a dream. It wasn't a specific dream, and it was an unrealistic one, but a dream nonetheless. She didn't know what was going to happen to her after tonight, but Aglaia had become like a reminder to herself, that she had to have hope, lest she become a cynic like that old harpy. And besides, when Pandora opened the her husband's pithos, hadn't only hope remained inside? At least it was true that it was Melantriche's hope for a better future that allowed her to keep going, rather than run back into the woods towards the temple to be slaughtered. She'd already thought of doing so more than several times already, only for Lyra, but she knew that it would do no good. Lyra would die anyways, and if Melantriche died too, then it would have been all for naught.

But guilt wracked Melantriche that night. Dreams of Lyra, neck slit open and reaching out for her, and Melantriche ran towards her, screaming. When Lyra embraced her, she merely smiled as if she felt no pain, and she whispered,

"Be brave."

And she woke then, when the dewdrops were forming and her face became red from the chill. She thought that dew was dripping onto her face until she touched them and realized—

Dew isn't supposed to be warm.