“What does it mean?”
“Your dream?” Hebe asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes a seagull is just a seagull.”
“When a God dreams it is never just a seagull.” Herakles snorted.
The chief cow-herder sat silently for several long moments rubbing his aching knee, and then said, “I have a suspicion that my brother has something to do with this. When did you last see Dionysos?”
Deftly changing the subject, Hebe inquired, “Are you thirsty, my husband? I’ll fetch you some refreshing milk.”
