Here's the next part to "Twisted Arrows" -- actually, it's part of the next part. I decided that instead of waiting until I'd written a long section before uploading it for you to see, I'd just upload what I'd written disregarding whether it's as long as the previous part. I figured that you folks would prefer more frequent updates with little story parts instead of fewer updates with longer parts.

What do you think of this deal? Let me know!

[ Part I ] [ Part IIa ]

Psyche knew she should enjoy the dance. Everyone had worked so hard to organize it, and they were all so happy. . .

But it was in honor of a god.

That was the crux of it, Psyche decided as she watched spinning skirts flash past like children's tops. The maidens laughed in lilting, ladylike tones, while the men flashed their most charming smiles and whirled the women around like fragile dolls. The elders clapped their hands in merry beat, enjoying the dance vicariously through the youths.

Musicians stood next to the dancing stage, playing their most merry tunes and thumping a beat with their feet. Even Leto wasn't tempted to ruin the moment by insisting on playing -- or wailing -- his ballads to the audience.

She should be having fun. Her three sisters certainly were. Menena, the oldest, was elegant and charming as she teased her dance partner, Gerome. They were expected to announce their engagement any day now. Therenas, the second-born, was flirting and batting her eyes at her admirers, seeking every chance to toss her golden curls. Every once in a while she would cast Psyche an unpleasant look. Even Amelia, the youngest at fourteen, looked tempted to accept a dance invitation from one of the village boys. She looked pretty in her first party dress.

Psyche had helped sewn the dress for her -- of all the sisters, Amelia was the one she felt closest to.

Psyche sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. It was a chilly night, but she was the only one who felt it because everyone else was enthusiastically whirling to the music, out of breath. There were fires, yes, most of them were for decorative purposes instead of for warmth.

Psyche normally wasn't such a stick-in-the-mud. If the dance had been in honor of something else -- the first harvest of the year, for example -- she would have loved watching the events unfold. She would have enjoyed herself, mayhaps dancing with some of the men even though she knew what they really wanted from her.

She wouldn't have been wishing as much as she did now on how she wanted to go home to her drawings.

Psyche didn't like the gods. She was reluctant to participate in anything that glorified the gods, whether it was a village dance or a temple procession. She wasn't exactly a disbeliever, because she did know that there was some greater force out there in the world. If humans chose to envision that force in the form of gods, then sure, she'd go along with that theory. That didn't mean she liked how the theory operated.

Take Zeus, for example. He was the king of gods. He cheated regularly on his wife. He even assumed different disguises so that he could trick innocent women into sleeping with him. Hera was the only goddess who took exception to his deceit, but she reacted by punishing mortals instead of her husband. For an extremely powerful goddess, she didn't seem to demand the respect due to her by Zeus.

And then there was Hades, who abducted Persephone just because she was pretty and he lusted after her. He forced her into becoming his wife, as if all he wanted from her was her body, not her mind. Tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds, in fact, causing her to be forever joined to him and the Underworld. This was always something that confused and aggravated Psyche, since she had eaten pomegranates before and found no supernatural power behind the fruit.

Sometimes Psyche wondered how humans knew stories of the gods. The convoluted plots often sounded more like gossip heard at the local fishmonger's store than fact. If that was the case, Psyche wished the people who had invented the tales would choose a subject that didn't focus on lust. Or that they'd create fables that valued the institution of marriage instead of mocked it. As it was now, Psyche didn't think the gods were setting a good example for anybody.

Maybe she was reading too much into things.

She couldn't bring up these questions with anybody. Questions of that sort were seen as challenging the existence of gods, which was a sin. She didn't trust her family not to overreact if she dared perform such a crime, even her doting father and Amelia. Disbelievers were punished, after all, by both the temple priests and the community. It was often hard to determine who was the crueler party.

Psyche leaned back against the wooden beam that framed the dance stage. The village dance was held in honor of Apollo, the god of muses. Maybe she should participate in the events more -- as far as she knew, Apollo was a pretty decent god, and did deserve some credit for inspiring artists, including herself and Leto.

Although, she admitted with a grin, many of the villagers were all too willing to have Apollo take back whatever gifts he had bestowed upon Leto. If he had indeed bestowed Leto with any gifts, that is. Many people remained skeptical on that issue.

She felt a whisper of a wind creep across her skin. For some reason, it caused her to glance around herself, searching for something. She frowned, seeing nothing unusual, and wondered why she had reacted in that way.

Movement would be good for her. She could see her father talking to Old Man Oglen on the other side of the dance stage, and decided to make her way towards him. He was probably boasting to Oglen about his daughters. Psyche couldn't help but smile in fondness over her father; his obvious pride, though sometimes exasperating, was often endearing. She loved him despite of his faults.

Ignoring another breeze that brushed past her, she started forth.