(no subject)
Hektor's father can be an exacting man, sometimes; he caught sight of the boy's letters yesterday, and they were not at all to his liking. Phoitios received quite a lecture for that, and since no man much cares for that sort of thing once he is grown, he turned around and passed it on to his young charge. Hector's ears are still ringing with the din of his tutor's wrath and he has been set to further practice writing, even when he is not in the presence of his tutor or uncles or anyone else. He hardly thinks it fair- his writing is not that bad- but one does not argue with he who carries the word of the King. . .
At least the goddess has taken him out of the Palace for a time. A small, dark-haired boy, dressed in a belted linen tunic and sandals, trudges through the door of Milliways and bows to the Bar with fist on brow before taking his stylus and slate of wax to a spot on the floor by the fire.
At least the goddess has taken him out of the Palace for a time. A small, dark-haired boy, dressed in a belted linen tunic and sandals, trudges through the door of Milliways and bows to the Bar with fist on brow before taking his stylus and slate of wax to a spot on the floor by the fire.