You don’t have legs.’ ‘YOU CAN’T HIDE!’ Python bellowed. ‘You did too.’ I DIDST NOT! WE MUST NEEDS FORMULATE A NEW PLAN. Its voice sounded unusually subdued, almost sad. ‘I forced him to call me Apollo!’ A GREAT VICTORY, intoned the arrow. ‘I can smell your blood!’ ‘Hear that, arrow?’ I wheezed, delirious from exhaustion and the venom coursing through my veins. ‘I gotteth him right where I wanteth him.’ THAT BAD? ZOUNDS! ‘Where are you, Apollo?’ Python roared. HOW DOETH WE, SIRRAH? The arrow’s voice buzzed in my head. I fumbled in my quiver and drew out Ye Olde Arrow of Dodona. I would have given anything for Meg’s exploding tomato plants, or Nico’s Stygian iron blade, or even a team of fast-running troglodytes to carry me around the cavern and screech insults at the giant tasty reptile. That left me with an out-of-tune ukulele and a rapidly deteriorating human body. Whatever fits of godly power I was experiencing, they weren’t consistent and they weren’t enough. I had arrows but nothing to shoot them with. (Oh, why did I have to make that comparison?) I’d lost my best weapon.
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I limped towards the cavern wall and squeezed myself into a vertical crack no bigger than a coffin. I’d probably just reduced my lifespan from a few minutes to a few fewer minutes. Naturally, those claws would be venomous. I got one foot on the rim of the fissure, then somehow hauled myself back to solid ground.
I managed to grab a leathery wing, which flapped in protest, trying to shake me off. I screamed and stumbled, desperately grasping for any handhold as I slipped off the side of the reptile. I thought I was being clever until a random lizard foot sprouted next to me and raked my ankle with its claws. I leaped onto Python’s trunk and used it as a bridge to cross one of the fissures.
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