It was dusk when Hercules slipped back in through the well concealed entrance to the cave they had taken shelter in four days earlier and deposited his armful of grubbed up roots and berries
by the dwindling fire.
Eyeing the small stack of firewood speculatively he grimaced,
knowing that he would have to go on a mission to collect more before the evening was over if they did not want the fire to burn out in the night.
The task of collecting wood had fallen to him ever since they had set up camp here aided by Asopus, Pammon and Belos, the three soldiers of Dion's command who had accompanied them.
Asopus was a nice enough lad Hercules supposed, although his incessant cheerfulness and constant chatter tended to grate on the burly wrestler's nerves.
Pammon, on the other hand, was the polar opposite: dour and silent to the point where Hercules had begun to wonder if he didn't know how to speak – answering only in grunts.
Hercules found himself chattering on whenever he was with Pammon just to fill the uncomfortable silences.
Belos was somewhere between his two comrades in character but the bulky man found he still could not warm to the man; could not forget that this was the soldier who had referred to Jason as
a "moonstruck boy" and ridiculed what Hercules' young friend had been saying.
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