Standing on the outskirt of the forest, Hermes whispered a message to his light‐headed, wine‐loving friend: “Zeus’s twice‐born son, your time shall surely come. You are the living vine, for you the stars will shine”.
The wolf by Apollo’s side pricked up its ears and whined as his cold, beautiful master raised an arched eyebrow: “I am, Father, bringer of the cosmic light, voice of all reason and destroyer of dark night.….”
Zeus raised an eyebrow of his own. “How soon, I wonder, my great golden child, ’til you think yourself greater, even, than I?”
Apollo’s deer‐sister entreated him in an urgent voice. “Harness your pride, beloved brother, lest the chariot of the sun is struck down by lightening and the silver moon dies of grief! Then all shall witness this licentious youth sober in a second and sit upon thy gilded chariot!”
Apollo nodded slowly at the bull before him. “Ay, beloved sister of the moon, with his great, hairy hand upon my priceless goblet, while his sluts strum tuneless ditties upon the incomparable turtleshell lyre!”
Dionysus raised his cup to them and smiled: “You have my blessing, brother. I think not to steer the chariot of the sun, nor to take your hallowed place in heaven, I’d rather have a bit of fun….I shall keep the lyre, though, for the sound of music shall do much to make our mystery!”
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