Part 67

"Come, there is nothing left to do here. I'll help you. To yonder stream."

Demo led him from the site, down to a green meadow where flowed a quiet brook. There he washed the giant's wounds, gave him wine to drink, watched him as he slept.

Like a child Prometheus followed Demo. At first ever watchful, his frightened eyes on the sky. With time he relaxed, only sporadically tensed, glanced anxiously upward.

He did not speak.

He did chores as directed. He searched for berries, edible plants, honey. He fetched water from a nearby spring.

Within the immediate area he worked diligently. He would not go beyond sight of Demo. When he reached a distance that seemed to great he would halt, bow his head, and return.

Broken, frightened, the hero was dead! Only the shell lived.

The wild beast became ever braver. Fire, that strange creature that turned night into day, no longer existed. Mankind huddled by night in their abodes, listening, frightened, at the night sounds.

The wolves became bolder. They hunted in larger and larger packs, killed sheep at will. Soon village dogs became their prey. And children who wandered alone into the night. Even men, traveling alone, were subject to the deadly raid of the wolf pack.

Prometheus and Demo came under attack. They slept in the open, under the stars. Demo woke to hear the call of the wolves as they assembled for the hunt. He grimaced, felt for his bow and arrows.

Prometheus slept. Childlike, he trusted to Demo for his protection.

The howls soon ceased. That silence, more than the wild calls, frightened Demo. He notched an arrow to his bow, sat with back against a huge oak. He watched the edges of the clearing, looking for sign of motion.

He wasn't to be disappointed.

They came in the false dawn, quietly creeping to the edge of the open space. Demo saw in the dim light their movement. He let fly an arrow, prepared another. The yelp of the injured wolf signaled the attack.

One more arrow flew and a wolf fell. The pack was upon him! He had not time to draw his bow again.

With an angry roar Prometheus awoke. His huge form towering high, he seized a fallen tree trunk, raised it above his head.

He met the oncoming horde with battering blows, growls more fierce than that of beast. Quickly, leaving fallen comrades behind, the wolves scattered.

Prometheus sat down, shivered as though cold.

"Why is there no fire? They would fear the fire."

Demo stared!

Under the fierce attack Prometheus had regained his will to live, to fight!

"The fire you gave man is extinguished. He failed to keep its flame burning, failed to protect it. He took it for granted, and none would be its keeper.

"There is no fire!"

Prometheus lay down the great log, breathed deeply.

"I took from Vulcan's furnace, from the hottest flames, the heart of fire. I gave it to man for his care and nurture, to protect him from the creatures of the wild. I gave it to him to protect him from the night, and those things that creep in the darkness. And now he has let it die? What fools are these mortals, to disdain a such a gift?"

"Man grows lazy and irresponsible. He thinks all things come to him with no effort on his part. He values little those gifts that he receives. At last he knows, now, what he has lost."

"In my own hand I carried the fiery coals. Look!"

He thrust out the palms of both hands, and Demo stared in the dawning light of morning at the charred and blackened skin.