His head kept turning, not in the cautious scanning of a wary traveler but as if responding to a sound just beyond hearing.
"There's something..." he began, then stopped, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. "Can't you feel it?"
Apollo could. Beyond the bow's insistent thrumming, beyond the gold warming in his veins, something pulled at his awareness, a rhythm, faint but growing stronger with each step east. It reminded him of heartbeats, of tides, of the endless pulse of his uncle's domain.
The first sound was so faint that Apollo thought he'd imagined it, a distant rushing that might have been wind through trees. But there was no wind in this strange, still forest. The sound came again, stronger this time, a rhythmic crash and retreat that stirred ancient memories in Apollo's blood.
"Water," Cale whispered, his face transformed with sudden certainty. "I hear water. Like... like waves breaking."
