Phaedra blinked the last vestiges of Calypso’s scintillating mana from her eyes, dazed from the transition to a new world. Her hand instinctively sought the quiver of arrows on her hip, finding the fletchings of a lovingly crafted arrow. A flick of her wrist seated the arrow against the bowstring, bringing calm to her bleary mind.

She tried to focus on her surroundings but found her vision blurry –like swimming through a swamp– this land was darker than her homeland. Yet it lacked the draining curse she felt at home, meaning Hades’ vengeance held no power here.

Where it had been late evening in Calypso’s tower it was now high noon, with the sun beating down directly above her, ducking low Phaedra slithered forward, seeking cover in this foreign land. Spritely stalks of grain brushed against the sensitive scales of her torso, arranged in evenly spaced lines.

A field of crops, good, these plants will conceal me. Though I will have to be cautious of the farmers. The rows are roughly human width, so I shouldn’t have to fear cyclops or giants.

She considered activating one of her scout skills, but quickly decided against wasting her skills in such a manner, she could not hear or see anything clearly. Enhancing a blind eye was pointless. Now was the time for patience, to rest and recover her wits. Her hearing returned quickly in the silence of chirping birds. Though there were no sounds of chickens or cows. Odd for a farm.

While her vision was slow to focus, there was something about this land that confused her eyes, closing her two gorgon eyes she concentrated on her peripheral eyes. Extending her serpentine hair in all directions to observe the world through a hundred vertical pupils.

Golden stalks of a plant humans called wheat grew around her. It had been many years since she had seen such grains, as they could not grow in the ash wastes of home. Furthermore, the wheat was organized into lines with furrows dug between the lines. This was a well tilled field, an ancient homeland, not a recently cleared wilderness. The top of the stalks were different, sprouting into long strands of meaty seeds, bulging out of their protective husks.

These look fat enough to burst, harvest season must be overdue. Farmers will surely come soon… If they aren’t already here…

Phaedra pressed herself against the dirt, straining to hear any sounds.

Silence…

Why is it so quiet? Have I portaled into a warzone? Ah, I can’t wait much longer… Otherwise farmers will happen across me, if they haven’t already seen the portal and run.

One of her rattlesnake dreads poked above the field of wheat, slyly scanning the surrounding fields. A short stone wall of loosely piled rocks surrounded the field, blocking her view of the surrounding lands. Only a few trees with orange-purple fruits hanging could be seen to her right, and a shoddy house of piled stone could be seen on her left.

A farmhouse, I appeared right in front of the farmer’s house! Hades’ curse Calypso’s aim!

A light breeze made the amber grain sway, and Phaedra shivered. This land was far colder than her own. Too cold for her to journey far without heat, and this was midday!

I’ll freeze if I stay here, maybe I can negotiate some clothes, or find a barn to weather the night.

She had packed a couple of shirts to bring with her, but this breeze felt as cold as snow. Clothes suitable for the weather would be needed, even then, she would need to travel south as soon as possible. Phaedra might have the fortune of hot blood, but that mutation was rare among the gorgons. The daughters of medusa would freeze if she did not find them soon, or be forced into the trance of hibernation. A death sentence if humans found them.

Slithering through the field she listened carefully, pausing every few feet. A sparrow flitted over the fields, weaving between distant trees to leave silence in its wake. Phaedra tasted the air with her snakelocks. A faint scent of ashes landed on her tongues, possibly the farmer’s fire or a lingering taste of her homeland. Too weak to be a pressing concern. Yet no smoke rose from the farm house. Something was wrong.

Silence enlarged her fears. A strange sound for fields so loaded with crops. The lack of a farmer or watchman could no longer be ignored, something had driven them away. Piqueing her nerves. While the growing lack of birds spooked her. There should have been hundreds of birds picking at the bountiful fields. Yet there was silence.

A predator is nearby. The animals of this land should not know my scent, and a human would not think to hide from me. They would go for help. Something dangerous lingers. Something that tastes like ash.

With her choice of human farmer or unknown predator, Phaedra chose the rational quantity. A fellow human would at least allow her to speak. She peeked over the stone wall, finding a well worn path leading to the farmhouse. Her serpentine form slithered over the wall, and across the dirt road, pausing a moment to open her gorgon eyes, taking in the new land with her greatest weapon. Golden wheat greeted her, distant trees shone with a vibrant green that made her heart flutter.

How can they grow so much green in such a frigid land? She wondered.

A distant howl caught her attention, two more howls answered it, echoing back to their leader. Three wolves would be nothing, but Phaedra had not become the oldest gorgon scout by being overconfident. She slithered to the door, yanking on the handle. The door rattled but did not move.

“Hades flay your wood and wither your saplings!” She whispered in her own tongue, looking towards the roof to see if she might be able to hide from the wolves up there.

No luck, the roof was made of dried grain stalks and a supporting structure of sticks. Phaedra was an ancient gorgon, not one of her thin boned arboreal sisters. Phaedra’s lineage was that of Medusa’s, of ground dwelling pit vipers. And despite her mutations, Phaedra was most similar to a rattlesnake, covered with armored scales. Her tail weight alone would bring the whole roof down.

“Hello? Is someone out there?” Called a masculine voice from inside the hut.

He spoke with an accent she had never heard before, but the language was familiar to her. In fact, it was the language Calypso had used before her departure. She must have scryed these humans, and was practicing their tongue.

“Am Phaedra, dogsss howl clossse.” She said, slurring her words as she tried to remember the language.

“Never heard an accent quite like yours lass, sounds like you’ve a coc– Ahem, the Sintran eighth protects from hellhounds and mermaids. Quickly now, come around the side and I’ll unbar the window for you.” Said the man.

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Phaedra followed the sounds of furniture being moved and slithered around the side of the house. Two wooden shutters opened inwards and Phaedra ducked against the wall, closing her eyes tightly.

“No look. Closssse eyesss and I no harm.” She called.

“You are a peculiar lass, but you wouldn’t be the first one who was caught with your pants down by these monsters. My eyes are closed, be quick now. Those hellhounds are much faster than wolves!” Called the hidden male.

Phaedra heard the man retreat through the farmhouse, bumping into furniture and dragging something across the floor. Howls echoed around the fields, answered by more wolves as they grew closer. He was right, they were closing faster than a galloping warhorse, and must have hidden close by.

“Close eyesss.” She hissed again, shutting her own gorgon eyes as a precaution.

Human men never seemed to understand her command, always sneaking a fatal peek. Like she was some infant they wished to play peek-a-boo with. Yet, she did not wish to kill a fellow human without cause, poking three hair snakes through the window she found a man sitting opposite the window, a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. Her thermal vision showed one leg was much cooler than the other, weaker, lacking blood. But what was most shocking to Phaedra was his face.

“Best shut the window soon lass, or else those hounds will be on us before you can batten down the hatches.” He said.

Phaedra actually smiled at the man. Hastily slithering into the farmhouse she closed the shutters, a plank of wood lay on a table to her left, and she slammed it into place behind the shutters, locking the window.

“You are blood.” Asked Phaedra, struggling with the distant dialect. Many years had passed since she had last spoken this particular tongue and its particulars were evading her forked tongue.

“Well, I would like to think I am more than my bodily fluids, but a bit more of my insides are on the outside. Hellhounds surprised us, killed my mate and chased me here. Must have been a dozen of them, but who is with you? Sounded like a bear was climbing through that window.”

Phaedra did not answer the man. Instead she searched the farmhouse, finding a dresser half full of clothes. Several dresses caught her eye and she slipped them over her head in an instant.

“Knife.” She ordered.

“Might be one near the fire lass, stuck mine in one of those bleeding hound’s eye. Dumb mutt ran off and died with my only blade.”

“Keep clossssed” Was her only reply.

There was indeed a knife next to the fire, one sharp enough to make quick work of the two dresses, slashing holes in them for her quiver to poke through. Next she cut a strip of cloth from each dress, something to bandage the bleeding man’s wounds.

“I kill if attack.” She promised.

“I might look like a scoundrel, and I suppose I am, but have a heart lass. I am in no state to be attacking anyone. No matter how pretty they might be.” He said, miming an exaggerated wink at her.

Phaedra marveled at the man, letting a single hissing chuckle escape her mouth at his absurd pantomime. Somehow he had managed to keep his eyes closed while winking at her. How he’d developed such a talent was a mystery she could scarcely comprehend. Slithering towards him she took hold of his spear and plucked it from him. He made no move to oppose her, not even trying to keep hold of his weapon. Howls reverberated around the farmhouse, rattling the doors and windows but doing nothing to shake the stone walls.

“Eyesss open.” She whispered, covering her closed gorgon eyes with a hand and aiming a dozen hair snakes at the man.

At her bidding the man opened his eyes, blinking several times in disbelief as he realized what was standing in front of him.

“Lass, I think I’ve lost too much blood. You look like one of those medusas… From where I am sitting.” Said the man.

“What do you know of my sssssssissssterssss?” Hissed Phaedra, slurring the human word for her family.

The man looked at her face, confusion crossing his own as he realized her eyes were closed.

“You closed your eyes. Wait, you can talk!” He marveled.

“Ansswer!” She ordered.

He closed his own, folding his hands in his lap.

“I uhm… well… Honesty tis important… They didn’t say anything when they came through the portals… We uhm… ambushed them as they came through, like we did to the other monsters.” He said.

“Look at me mortal!” She shouted in her own tongue, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hoisting him into the air.

“Whoa. Never thought a medusa would take me for a ride.” He blabbed automatically, grasping weakly at the arm that held him aloft.

His grip faltered, slipping off her arm as his head swam in a sea of dizziness, feeble from the loss of blood. Phaedra took a breath, this man was on death’s doorstep. She’d expected violence, but killing this man would be futile. He’d only acted how humans naturally would when confronted with a gorgon…

Hounds clawed at the door. She needed to question this man before he died, or they got in. His folk may have killed her daughters, but revenge would not bring them back. Years of experience scouting foreign lands ahead of her sisters had taught her to be patient, violence rarely led to anything other than bloodshed. More of her sisters and daughters would appear soon, she needed a capable ally to welcome them, not a corpse. A translator or a diplomat.

She let go of the man. Who fell into the chair roughly, his paltry grip on her wrist slipping free under his own weight.

“Pantss off.” She ordered.

“Oh God, what do you mean by that?” He asked, his pale face losing what little color remained.

“Bandage wound, no cock.” Ordered Phaedra, brandishing the knife.

“Taloc almighty save me, first you pick me up like a toy then demand I strip. I’ve never been so scared or aroused.” Murmured the man, meekly unbuttoning his pants.

If it weren’t for the growling at the door Phaedra probably would have laughed at his incorrigibility in the face of death. Dropping the knife she helped the man pull off his pants, revealing a dozen circular punctures in his left leg, varying in size and arranged in a semi-circular pattern. Evidently a bite mark from a large lupine creature. Most of the holes were plugged with coagulated blood, save one. Which leaked at an unsustainable rate.

Phaedra had seen arteries cut before. Many of them had been severed by her broadheads, this man would bleed to death soon if he was not already past the point of no return. Without proper supplies she had few options available to her. Working some spit into her mouth she used the tip of her forked tongue to caress one of her fangs, milking a miniscule drop of venom into her saliva filled mouth. She mixed it briefly, then spat the concoction onto the man’s leg. It landed with a splatter and the man swore in disgust.

“Odd way to lube someone up…” He grumbled.

She repeated the mix, concocting another mouthful of diluted venom. she spat once more. This time spitting directly into his bleeding wound and using a finger to press the coagulating venom deep into his leg. He groaned and shook with pain but lacked the strength to fight back. Instead clenching the chair with all of his decrepit strength. Right up until the moment he collapsed, passing out from the loss of blood.

His lack of resistance made it easy to clean and bandage his wounds. Phaedra frowned at the oozing leg, thinking that it would take stitches and healing herbs to heal properly. She was loathe to use her own supplies on a man who was so far gone, but given her need for information she decided to risk it.

Retrieving a needle and herbs from her pack she set to work stitching and treating the unconscious man to the best of her ability. A half hour later, she carried the unconscious man to the lone bed, tucking him in with the rattle end of her tail. The hellhounds sniffed at the door and window but made no greater attempts to enter the home. Eventually they tired of the fruitless hunt and scattered to the four winds, howling their locations occasionally.

When they had gone, she searched the farmhouse, claiming what little they had as her own before she settled in for a nap atop the injured man. Though her hot blood allowed her to move through the cold, warmth was still a precious commodity, one she hoped the man could appreciate. Her few human mates had always enjoyed this strange form of meditation. Often asking for “cuddles”, an odd term Phaedra had never understood, but mortal humans seemed to gain great vigor from the practice.