‘Those innocent days on Sicily were ended.’ The bleakness in Callisto’s tone forbade any further reply. ‘Persephone’s vow was broken. Everything changed.’ I knew her meaning for certain when the crocuses peeped up outside my cave again, when buds sprouted and swelled on the trees, when the trilling of birds greeted the dawn and the starkness of winter was swallowed up in the profusion of life that accompanied Persephone’s annual ascension. The nymphs shrugged off their thick furs, returned to the bathing pools. Only Callisto hung back, reluctant, still swathed in a heavy dress, until Artemis
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