Wrote a highly off-canon fable about Penelope and Odysseus, childhood friends: ⬇️
A girl sits below an olive tree, reeds piled on her right, a slowly growing stack of woven baskets on her left.
Penelope of Ithaca, entering her thirteenth summer. A generous poet might note the brightness of her eyes, or that with the endless potential of youth, even a plain girl can become a great beauty.
A boy, bow hanging from his shoulder, hesitating. He is pondering the most impressive way to enter the olive grove, unsure why the girl has been avoiding their familiar childhood haunts of late.
Odysseus, son of Laertes, a boy with no legends to his name, as of now. If there is a poet generous enough to speculate he was growing handsome, I have not met him.
“Penelope, Ithaca at last knows peace! It seems the terrible prankster who once menaced our shores intends to spend her summer sitting under this tree.”
A roll of the eyes, unimpressed, her hands never stopping their weaving. “Hm.”
“Eurycleia and the other matrons will host a grand celebration, hearing the trickster queen has abandoned her crown.”
Penelope looks at him, at last; though with little affection. Her eyes shine with naked jealousy of the grass in his hair and the dust staining his legs.
“Some of us can’t spend summer running around and wrestling anymore. Some of us are women now,” she continues, voice filling with bile and envy, “and we have work to do.”
The boy, normally quick to reply, is slow to speak. One might suspect that his storied courage, worthy of a great hero, faltered when faced with this girlish wrath.
He finds his boldness again, sitting down beside her. “I suppose, if I were to pick a tree to spend a summer under, this one is not so bad.”
He is rewarded with the barest hint of a smile. “Only not so bad? Two summers ago, I recall someone plotting out how he would build a castle that covers this whole grove, rising over the clifftops.”
Odysseus frowns, embarrassed. “A very cruel woman, to remember all of the things that I say.”
Rewarded again, with a real laugh this time, even if it’s at his expense.
Her eyes shining slightly, the girl asks a familiar question: “Do you want to play riddles?”
The boy sighs. “Is it still fun to play a game I never win?”
“You win plenty! Whenever you’re not playing against me.”
“Penelope, you’ll have to promise me a grand prize to make it worth my playing.”
She pauses her weaving, fully distracted now. Her hands find a half-rotted piece of fruit sitting by her foot.
“I could offer you the ripest olive in all of Ithaca.”
The boy waves her off; anyone who knows him well knows could see he's just had a clever idea.
“I think, for defeating Ithaca’s master of riddles, I should get something immense. She should owe me her quick tongue, or-” voice cracking, “her hand.”
Penelope laughs brightly, no sign of irritation now; she is enjoying this game. “But wise prince, if I lose my hand, who will weave Ithaca’s baskets?”
He clears his throat. “Perhaps, then... I'd borrow it. Until she asks for it back.”
“Hmmm... that seems a worse prize than my olive.”
Face reddening, the boy pushes onward. “Well, shouldn’t the prize’s value be up to the challenger?”
“Fair enough... to borrow my hand, then, for the successful challenger.”
Penelope’s eyes slide away, her cheeks growing red enough to match Odysseus’.
“Here’s the riddle, then:
What is bright in the day,
rises in the morning from the East,
and sinks down at night in the West?”
The boy mouths the words, repeating them back for a long moment, trying to find where she’s hidden the trick.
“Oh.”
Now then, a riddle for you: who do you think won this contest, the asker or the challenger?
One hour onto a rant. Defect is the only one listening, everyone else has tuned him out. That doesn't seem to matter to him much.
I've been thinking hooves recently. More musings under cut.
I want his feet to be pointy and awkward to stand on so he gets really thin pointed hooves. They look like fountain pens when closed, and I bet back home he would be able to walk without them really opening up at least much. But on Preon there's more pressure on them which makes standing for long periods painful.
The shoes he has are there both to give him more surface area per foot but also to hold the hooves together more. Doesn't make him fully capable though, and he will start getting ache-y if he can't sit back down. Standing in place is the worst option so when he's lacking his throne for whatever reason and the group is at a standstill he'll be pacing. With pretty forceful stomping steps mostly bcs it feels better than soft steps and also because it annoys Necrobinder and he delights in the drama.
Hey, I love your art, especially your curls. Could you tell me if you use any specific technique or have any study recommendations to make them look so beautiful?
Tube, some extra added smaller tubes can be nice
Using tube in layers, a few at a time
There is definitely less time-consuming ways of drawing hair but I live the tube life, I hope this is helpful.💗
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