Home.

Three men stood at a crossroads.

“I shall miss you, old friends.” Thucydides wept.

“We shall meet again, if not upon mount Olympus, then surely at the gates of hell.” Aristides clapped him on the shoulder. “I shall miss you as well, but your home awaits you and no man has earned it better.”

Eyes brimming with his own manly tears, Ulysses shook his friend’s hand in honour and gratitude.

“Stand tall and back down to no man. Tell our story to any who will listen, for any true man could learn much from you. And all of this.”

“I shall never forget. And I will tell them, Ulysses—I can promise you that!”

“Aye, and neither shall we.” Aristides stood with thoughts of his own home clear in his head. “I shall always think of you, and often wonder where you might be.”

The three embraced as brothers for one last time.

“Off with you then, Thucydides, and we shall meet again in better times.” For a long time, they watched his retreating figure, until distance and a smoky blue haze made his small figure all but disappear.

Heaving a deep sigh, Aristides turned to Ulysses.

“Let us be off then.” His friend nodded agreement.

“Home awaits. Let us not tarry, me to my good wife and son, and perhaps you, my friend, to marry!”

With a laugh and a shrug, Aristides could not help but agree.

“What sort of a wench would marry one such as I, is a question sublime.” Aristides chuckled. “As long as she is a good, hard working woman, with good teeth and nice eyes, it may be within me, for I shall give it a try.”

“I never could best you in poetry and song.” Ulysses ran out of words. “It is but a few miles more, and that will have to do. Now, let’s move along.”

With a gesture, Ulysses shouldered his friend's burden so that he might sing.

"Earth’s loveliest, where the nightingale’s

Liquid notes most haunt

The darkness of green glades,

In her home amongst ivy dark as wine

Holy with the presence of the gods, un-pierced

By the sun, and windless from the storms.”

– some old Greek poet.