Galla gasped when she felt the satyr approach her and cover her with a warm cloak. She wrapped it around her and looked at him, tears sparkling in her eyes, a soft smile blooming on her lips. She also realized just how hurtful her remark must have been. But she had meant the Gorgon, and the others...not the one who offered her the first release from her strict, rigid beliefs. She turned to him and whispered: "Thank you, Dionysios. We - we shall talk again. I pray you forgive me..." She sobbed again and sat down on a chair at the bar, looking at Myrine with anger and a sense of lingering betrayal in her eyes. Her beauty seemed greater, more mature. Although not amplified by the thrill of war, Myrine was a goddess still. And a living reminder of how much Galla had loved her. As a mentor. As a sister. As more?<br/><br/>She turned and picked up the wine bottle and took a large sip.