The Fog of Home
Loading image...
The gentle rocking of the Phaeacian ship has ceased. You wake on sand, stiff and disoriented. The roar of the surf fills your ears, but a thick, unnatural mist clings to the coastline, obscuring all landmarks.
Beside you, under the roots of a great olive tree, lies the treasure given to you by King Alcinous—gold, bronze, and fine garments. But the ship that brought you is gone. You stand upon the beach, your heart pounding. Is this truly Ithaca, or have the Phaeacians betrayed you and abandoned you on some foreign, desolate shore?
"Alas!" you cry out. "Among what manner of people have I fallen?"
You pace the sand, counting your goods. Nothing is missing, yet the landscape looks alien in the fog.