Zenobia wondered, as she often does, of what her forebears back in Themyscira would think of her Daughters of Artemis. What the centuries have wrought on the once proud sisterhood of huntresses. When those who took the oath tracked beasts through the wilds and fed from their bounty. Now the beasts they hunt wonder not in the wilds that have shied and shrunk away from the city walls and roads of civilization but in and on those vary roads and cities. In this modern day a very few women who take the oath of her sisterhood actually hunted in the wilds, and every year they seem to trek farther and farther.
No, Zenobia thought, the founders of her order would not be proud of what they became, but maybe they would be proud that they have survived at all. In the end that is the true law of all that is wild and in the domain of her goddess Artemis.
“Zena! Zena!” The familiar voice of Othelus comes from the shadowy rafters above her head.
Looking up she saw the young boy child. He always had a talent for getting into places he shouldn’t be. If he was a girl Zenobia has no doubt that little Othelus would be in training to be a Daughter of Nyx like Othya.
“Get down from there before you hurt yourself,” Zenobia scolded with a shake of her head. “I have some treats for you.”
Zenobia’s eyes then followed the subtle sounds of the boy hurrying across the rafters and then as he slid down a column. The gaunt child then hurried and took the seat next to her and reached for a pomegranate. Zenobia settled her chin on her fist and waited, if he followed his usual pattern he will eat the whole fruit and drain a cup before he remembers what he is here for. But to her surprise he stopped before he took the fruit.
“Oh!” Othelus twists in his seat and looks at Zenobia, “Othya told me to tell you something, she had on her serious face, the face she uses when she’s talking to people and doesn’t think I’m looking. She told me to tell you that Troy comes again.”
“Are you certain that is what she said, Troy comes again?” Zenobia asked to which the boy nodded. “Eat and rest child, I need to go a do a few things.”
“You have that face too,” Othelus said as he took a pomegranate. He then set his soft face into a set of hard lines and looked at Zenobia and then spoke in as gruff a voice as he could, “the serious face.”
Zenobia smiled at him like he was on of her own grandchildren and shook her head, “eat, eat! You are too thin.”
“I know,” Othelus said as he looked over the full table. “People ignore me more if I look too thin, then I hear all their secrets easier.”
With a sad shake of her head Zenobia left the room and then her house to her neighbor. Sweeping into the house like it was her own she quickly found Leontia going over piles of scrolls and letters.
“Mistress,” Leontia said as she briefly looked up from her work. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence? Usually I get a note.”
“A sister has called on me and has given me some weighty news,” Zenobia said carefully.
“My husband is out,” Leontia sighed and shuffled her work.
“I was sent a message by a Daughter of Nyx,” Zenobia said, “Troy comes again.”
Leontia immediately put down what she was reading and rested her chin on a fist as she gave her full attention to Zenobia. She then spoke coldly, “the last time we were given that message Italia fell to the Ostogoth barbarians. Why have we been given it now?”
“I don’t know yet,” Zenobia said, “but she sent her favorite ear to tell me. She never sends him where he can get into too much trouble. So it's both important and close. We should begin preparations for whatever we are needed to do.”
“I’ll start reducing the huntresses we send out on contracts,” Leontia said and shuffled through a few sheets of papyrus. “We won’t be making silver, but we will break even. Some of the other Sisterhoods might kick up a fuss over it.”
“Let me handle the Sisters,” Zenobia said, “just make sure we have huntresses ready for whatever Troy will be this time.”
“Yes Mistress,” Leontia nodded and began her work.
Zenobia pulled over a chair and began to help deciding who will die for a sack of silver and gold.
