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them have powers over mortals.” Priska stopped weaving and leveled a hard look at Phoibe. “We should have had this talk long ago.” She shook her head. “You know of your parentage, and so you know you are a demigod. Because of this, you are immortal. Nothing mortal can take your life. Not sickness, an accident, a weapon, poison. None of it.”
    “Are you saying I’ll live forever?”
    Nodding, Priska said, “You could.” But there was something in her voice that told Phoibe there was more.
    “But?”
    “But, it doesn’t happen very often. There are immortal things that can harm you, immortal things that can kill you.”
    “Like what?”
    “Other immortals have immortal weapons. The gods have all kinds of immortal powers. There are immortal monsters. There are lists of things.”
    “Is that why you don’t want me to be friends with Apollo?”
    “Are you friends?”
    “No, but he said he wanted to be.”
    “Phoibe, I’m not going to tell you what to do. I just want you to think through what the consequences of your choices might be.”
    “Do you think he would kill me?”
    “I don’t know Apollo. I don’t know what he’s capable of. But my initial guess is he’s not trying to kill you or you’d already be dead.”
    “So what do you think he wants?”
    Priska’s looms started shuttering again, and there was a brief pause before she spoke. “I can only guess Phoibe, so I would again tell you to be careful.”
    Phoibe nodded in understanding. She returned to her work, and her thoughts.
    ~ προχωρήσουμε ~
    The letters from Isaak came in spurts. Phoibe would read and reread them, usually committing them to memory. She always replied promptly, and wrote at least as often as he did. They got to know more about each other through their letters, about each other’s values, temperament, and humor. At times, she thought much about the young man, but work was keeping him busy, and the letters became fewer…
    ~ προχωρήσουμε ~
    It was just over a week since Phoibe had talked with Priska about the powers of the gods. Phoibe had delivered dyed cloth to one of the judges, and her thoughts were on Apollo. If he were responsible for the wool being dyed, to make time for her, why had he not made an appearance? She had started going for long walks, bored with her routine, hoping for something to break the monotony.
    She was wandering in the fields behind Priska’s home. She bent down to pick some wildflowers, and when she stood up Apollo was there.
    “So, my Phoibe, do you have time for a walk today?” His eyes lazily grazed over her.
    “Um, sure,” she shrugged, self-conscious of her disheveled appearance. She continued her amble and noticed the god kept pace, but despite the furtive glances, he was silent as they walked.
    “You’re quiet today,” she observed, uneasy with the silence.
    “Yes, I have much on my mind. Which is no excuse for not being attentive to you. I’m sorry Phoibe. What have you been up to?”
    “Not much. We’ve been weaving cloth with the threads that you dyed. We were hoping to have visitors from town, but it seems they are not to come.” She couldn’t help the forlorn note that crept into her voice. Isaak had written that he thought he would be visiting that week, but the time appointed had come, and two days had passed without any word.
    “Are you lonely?” He stopped walking to look at her, to measure her response.
    “No,” she sighed, and then laughed at her own dishonesty. Her smile was rueful as she continued, “Well, sometimes I am. Priska is a great friend and mentor, but sometimes she seems to withdraw into herself, and then…” she left it hanging.
    “One as old as Priska has many memories.” Apollo extended his arm, which Phoibe took and the two started walking again. “Perhaps she forgets what it is like to be young.”
    “Maybe. I wonder if I’ll do that when I’m her age,” she mused.
    Apollo laughed. “When you’re her age?