Atalanta

by Jennifer Saint

He rested his forehead against mine; for a moment, we were suspended, standing still together before he spoke again. ‘Where did you go?’ I hesitated. ‘Just – after the rocks, I was . . .’ I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. What had I needed? Silence. Solitude. These were familiar to me. I’d never been afraid like I was when we were being tossed about in those churning waters, the unforgiving rocks ready to crush our bones to dust. I’d sought safety in a return to what I knew. The quiet peace of the empty woods, with only myself for company. ‘I looked for you,’ he said and I felt a swooping sensation, like tumbling from a precipice. I stepped back from him. ‘We should return. Idmon, we need to be there to bury him.’ ‘Not just that,’ Meleager said. I’d thought his face was so grave because of Idmon’s death, but there was more to come. ‘It’s Tiphys,’ he said. ‘He has a fever.’