29 Safety in Stone by Emily Vest Between kalamon and koroneiki trees, the demi-god slung his bow over his shoulder onto the sling on his back. Gorham’s Cave loomed before him, a fanged smile feigning hospitality. It threatened to snap shut, grind him between its molars as he entered. But he would take what he came for, what he worked for, and leave richer. Without getting swallowed. He stepped forward, eyed the stalactites jutting from the cave’s lips. Through Gorham’s mouth he could see the statues, armor-clad, all backs turned to him, swords and spears and shields aimed into the gaping maw. The shadows cloaked their stone faces. His sandal nudged a shield—wooden, coated with mirror-bronze—abandoned. His face was stoic, steely, and steady. The olive oil on his chest gleamed golden in the dying sun’s rays, reflecting off the round bronze aspis. He heard the little owl’s hoot as the grove around him darkened. Taking from his sackcloth the cold and smooth vial gifted from his father, taking the strip of linen wrapped around the waist of his pteruges and wrapping it around his eyes, the demi-god entered past the rocky teeth—into the mouth. He left the mirrored shield on the ground behind. The cave was vast. He could tell from the echo of his footsteps. The hair on his forearms prickled up his skin. The air felt heavy. Yet, when he breathed in, the demi-god did not smell the earthy, mineral scents he expected, but a faint aroma of onions, tomatoes, and olives. Adjusting the blindfold over his eyes, tapping the bow still slung across his back, thumbing the vial in his grasp, brushing his fingers across the hilt of his extra dagger—just in case—he delved deeper. His sandals hesitantly grazed the ground as he felt the uneven floor, the rocks, the occasional stone foot. His heart leapt each time his hands reached granite arms and he
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