It had been a long time since he had wanted to face the water again, but the moment to leave had come. His journey lay ahead of him, he knew, and he and his crew must face the days of turmoil ahead. They were almost ready to set sail, his men making the last few adjustments to the ship before they set sail from the island in which they had encountered the goddess Circe. Odysseus watched on from the shore’s edge, then, eyes narrowed on the horizon. He would not have noticed the appearance of another goddess, had it not been for the shift in the air, that sense of power that all gods, especially Athena, seemed to have about them. He turns his head, slowly, to meet her eyes, small smile appearing, though it is weary. “Wise one, Athena, your presence is an honour, as always.” He says with a bow of his head, before his gaze shifts back to his men. “We set sail at sun rise. To the West. Yet, no matter where we go it shall be treacherous. Poseidon will not easily forget the... incident with his son.” Odysseus swallows, still cursing himself for his own big headedness.