Excerpt:
The young man did not want to say what he was thinking, even as the old campaigner lifted his pelta — a crescent-shaped shield: Be careful, honored Aristander - your best fighting days are past.

Phaeton's youthful half sisters joined them, long-limbed Phaethusa, nearly as fleet of foot as her brother, and Lampetia, who made birds and beasts out of red river clay.

Phaeton lifted a gentle hand to stay them. The anticipated violence was too dangerous for the very young, and Merops agreed, "Stay here in the village and guard the thresing ground," said their kind-eyed father.

"Phaeton, bring me back a feather," called Lampetia. "Please!"

Her half brother laughed and waved, wondering inwardly that his sisters knew so little of danger.

The band was a brave sight, Phaeton know, and when Ino called out from the wellhead, where she helped one of her servant girls crank water out of the ground, Phaeton gave a wave.

"There's trouble in the sheep field," was all he would allow himself to say, imitating the terseness of warriors who had seen much violence.

"Phaeton, be careful!"called Ino, hurrying to join him. The young woman had rarely spoken like this to Phaeton. They played drafts together, a board game with ivory pieces, and sometimes she sang for him, poems Phaeton had barely heard of, learned from ambassadors and river captains.

Some day he would write a song of his own, or memorize an epic, some artful way to prove his worth to her. But for now he could not trust himself to say anything further. Something about her stuck him speechless, as so often before.
Phaeton was pleased to note, however, that the golden-haired young woman followed along, accepting a hunting lance from one of the field workers as the banc stormed through the orchard, ready to battle the monster.

Perhaps, thought Phaeton, I'll seize the griffin, and wound it somehow - with Ino watching.