Excerpt: The Nymph

He would never forget this moment, were he to live to be a hundred and ten, old, crippling, memories fading, this moment – and the memory of her - would be forever be emblazoned on his mind.

He couldn’t let her escape. Alexandros rose from the ground and slowly emerged, calling out, “Please. Please don’t run away or hide.”

She gasped and plunged within the river.

Alexandros dropped to his knees, devastated, his face in his hands. He would never see her again.

Of course, as if the Fates’s play of cruel irony and he was a puppet prop being tugged and pulled, his horse, his damnedable horse came up to him, and nudged him.

Had this been fifteen minutes ago, his joy and relief would have been boundless as the Aegean Sea. Fifteen minutes before her, and his deepest sorrow and joy would have been whether he could get his horse back to camp before the Strategos had noted his absence.

Would the rest of his life be measured in times after Her?