I did not want to risk Perseus' wound reopening and so mandated he not walk around at all while it began to heal. I didn't relent on that mandate, though I knew how much sitting in bed all day was beginning to drive him crazy. The loom made the last few days of bed rest easier for him. He finished a fine piece of cloth on it, proudly presenting me his work when I returned from the garden one day. It took me only a little time to sew the white linen cloth into a tunic and trousers, at last giving him clean clothes that fit him.

That morning, when I checked on the stitches, I had to conclude that he was well enough to walk again.

"You will still have to be careful," I warned him. I kept my voice stern, holding back the laugh that wanted to burst out at the sight of the unbridled eagerness in his eyes. "It will be difficult for you to walk without sight and I don't want you falling into a ditch and injuring yourself again."

"I will be," he replied fervently. He smiled toward me, a soft curve of his lips that made my heart stutter for a beat. "I swear. You don't need to worry for me, Andromeda."

But I did worry. I went mad with worry when I pictured him wandering blind through the forests of the island, unable to see the dangers that lay ahead of him. He could accidentally fall from a cliff and into the sea, or step upon a rattle snake, or a million other equally gruesome possibilities. The island held no dangers for me, but that was only because I was a monster. For a soft, vulnerable mortal like Perseus it would never be completely safe.

"Hang on," I told him.

I strode across the temple chamber to one of the small, unused rooms in the back. There was even more clutter here than in the main chamber, the place crammed with various tidbits and objects I kept stored away in case they might be useful. I pushed piles of random things aside, my brow furrowing as I searched for what I wanted. I soon found it, stuffed into a corner and hidden by a stack of woolen blankets.

I reached out and grasped the wooden staff. I tossed it lightly between my hands, testing its sturdiness. It was a simple, unadorned staff of cypress wood that had once been used here when the priestesses of Athena still lived in this temple. I used the heavier, taller staffs for fighting. The smaller and lighter ones like these I'd had no real use for, but had been loath to toss them away. As I tucked the staff under my arm and returned to Perseus' side I thanked my younger self for having the foresight to keep the thing.

"Reach out your hand," I commanded Perseus when I stood before him once more. He did so, and I placed the staff in his palm. His fingers curled around it and he lifted it up to test its weight, a smile alighting on his face.

"This is perfect." He stood up and twirled the staff around himself, chuckling low to himself.

I scowled. "It's to help you walk without tripping on things," I scolded him. "It isn't a sword."

He sighed, ceasing his fun and putting it down once more. He leaned forward on it, his eyes looking in my direction. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll use it properly."

"Good." My snakes twisted happily around my face and I batted them away with a hand. "Now, let's go. You need to practice being able to use it."

I grabbed hold of Perseus' arm to guide him to the cavern's entrance, but once we passed the threshold into the open air and sunlight, I let go. He needed to learn how to navigate by himself, in case I ever wasn't around to help him. He didn't seem to mind it or even notice, too busy taking in the fresh air.

He closed his eyes, turning his face to the sun and inhaling deeply. The sunlight glinted off of his curls, making them shine like copper. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. Outside, I could see just how light their color was, paler even than the clear sky in the afternoon. I tried to think of something to compare them to and came up with nothing.

"Alright." He turned toward me, his staff clutched firmly in his left hand. "Lead the way and I'll follow."

"First we'll go to the garden," I told him. "It isn't too far. I'll be here if you need any help." When he nodded, I turned and took the first step up the mountain's slope, in the direction of my garden. "This way." I touched Perseus' shoulder, turning him to face the right direction.

We started upwards. The sun was already at its zenith in the sky, and its heat fell upon our backs. Within a minute I could feel sweat on my forehead. I looked over my shoulder to Perseus, pausing my pace to wait for him.

He walked slowly, using the staff to feel the ground before each step as he should. Despite his slow pace, he seemed to be doing well. His skin glistened with sweat and he was breathing heavily, but I didn't observe any signs that he was in pain or that his wound was flaring up. His brow furrowed in concentration, his jaw clenched, as he put all of his focus into the task of walking, much like he'd done with the loom. I was beginning to notice that Perseus devoted himself completely to any challenge put before him, nearly to the point of bullheadedness.

I touched his shoulder and spoke aloud every so often when he began to drift to the side. He stopped and corrected his direction before continuing on, getting the hang of things quickly. This side of the mountain was un-forested, covered instead by open grasses and prickly shrubs. In other words, it was easy terrain. It was a good first expedition for Perseus, to give him a taste of what navigating the world blind would be like. But I knew that moving through the forest would be another story entirely. I quickly turned away from him, climbing the last few paces until we reached the edge of my garden. That would be a challenge for another day.

"We're here," I announced. Perseus stopped next to me, leaning one hand upon his staff. The organized chaos of trees and plants lay before us, easily distinguished from the empty grass fields that surrounded it. A squat, leafy fig tree guarded the garden's entrance. Its large foliage cast long, dark shadows, a blessedly cool respite from the sun's gaze. Blossoms of pink, white, and orange dotted the ground, the delicate petals swaying in the breeze. The olive trees were beginning to show their fruit, as were the lemons, apricots, and grapes. With the morning dew, they glittered like jewels.

I glanced at Perseus, feeling a pang in my chest. He could see none of it, none of the beauty and splendor of the garden that I wished to show him. In spite of my regret, he only smiled as he stared blindly ahead.

"It smells incredible," he said. "There are so many different scents, I can't even begin to pinpoint them."

I reached out and grabbed his free hand.

"This way," I said, slowly pulling him forward. "Careful not to step on anything."

I led him inside, careful to tell him where roots jutted out of the ground and where patches of herbs sprouted. I knelt down before a stretch of budding yarrow plants and told Perseus to do the same.

I picked a sprig of the small yellow flowers from the ground, handing it to him.

"Smell it," I said. He gently took the flowers in his hand and brought them close to his face.

"It's sweet," he said. "Like sugarcane."

I nodded. "This is yarrow," I said. "It has strong medicinal properties. It's what I used to heal you."

He ran his fingers over the plant, feeling the small, soft petals. "What color is it?"

"Yellow."

"What else?" he asked eagerly. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle under the streaming sunlight. "What else is here?"

So I showed him, moving through the different corners of the garden, pausing to describe a plant or flower to him and then let him hold it in his hands, to get a sharper picture of it. He was a patient and attentive listener. He must have been trying to memorize the plants by their smell and touch, something which I would have found near impossible, but I didn't put it past Perseus' capabilities.

"Where are we on the island?" he asked after we had gone through most of the garden's treasures.

"On the slope of the left Shoulder," I said. He cocked his head to the side with a frown and I laughed. "It's what we call the mountains here," I explained. "The Shoulders." I grabbed his arm and moved his body so that it faced up toward the twin peaks. "That way. From here, the mountains look like the great shoulder blades of a giant jutting up from the earth." I moved his shoulder again, turning him so he faced the east. "We're just high enough on the slope to view the sea over the tree line. The water is calm today, with hardly any strong waves. There the water is lapping against the eastern cliffs. When the waves are large, you can hear them crashing against the rocks even from here."

"I bet it's beautiful."

I dragged my gaze away from the sea to Perseus. His expression remained stoic, unmoved as he gazed toward the horizon, but his voice had carried a whisper of pain under it, a shadow of wistfulness for what he couldn't see.

"I can picture the island now," he said. "And the garden. But I still don't know anything about what you look like."

I tensed, turning away abruptly. I hated this line of conversation, but I bit my tongue and kept silent.

"Won't you tell me?" he prompted. "It's difficult imagining just a faceless blur instead of a person."

I exhaled deeply. There was no use in avoiding the question. It was painful, but I was capable of lying if I had to. "I'll tell you one thing today," I said. "What do you want to know?"

He remained silent for a minute, and I could see that he was thinking deeply. "Your eyes," he said at last. "What color are your eyes?"

Gold, I answered in my head. A bright, unnatural gold. The mark of my curse, that any who look into my eyes will turn to stone forever.

"Brown," I replied. "My eyes are brown."

"Hm." He hummed in acknowledgement and closed his eyes. His lips quirked into that damnably charming smile again. "Brown eyes. I can picture it." He opened his eyes again. "And what are-?"

"That's enough for today," I cut him off. I was not in the mood for more questions about my appearance. Aside from that, there was strange, glowing feeling in my chest that I was unfamiliar with and despite its warmth it was alarming to me. The snakes about my head curled into my neck, their scales warm against my skin. They always seemed to be content when the sun was out. "I said one thing today. You can ask me again tomorrow."

I turned away, moving my face toward the sea and shore. My eyes scanned the horizon, my stomach tight with nerves. Still no ships. We were safe for another day. Even so, I felt no relief. They would come back soon. It was only a matter of time.

"Let's go back," I said to Perseus. "The garden will still be here tomorrow."