Fire.
Destruction.
The burnt husks of wild plants lay everywhere.
The devastation left by the forest fire stretched for miles around the two goddesses. Charred tree stumps and broken branches littered the ground around them, ash falling from the sky like snow as the two took in the carnage.
The goddess with hair that shone like the moon and a bow that glowed with silvery celestial light knelt on the ground, weeping softly. The other, stormy-eyed and golden hair tucked under an impressive bronze helmet, stood by quietly, a silent companion.
This place, once filled with natural beauty and force, was now hauntingly still. No small animal stirred, no broken branch creaked. The Four Winds turned away, unwilling to cross the site of such destruction. The sun chariot itself seemed to dim, the driver perhaps sharing in the Earth’s sorrow.
Athena came forward then, drawing level with Artemis.
“Why?” the silver-haired huntress whispered. “Why would he do this? What does he have to gain in the destruction of the wilds?”
“When did Ares need a reason to do anything?” quick-witted Athena responded. “You forget who he is: god of war and violence, sister to Eris, chaos personified. His strength has always lain in brute force and needless killing with no regard to consequences or strategy, which, I must say, makes battles with his forces rather dull and quick.”
The two goddesses rarely concerned themselves with Ares, ignoring his brash comments and soundly rejecting his brutish advances (they had sworn off men, but Ares always had been a pig, and the Pantheon as a whole had never been particularly concerned with blood relations. Regardless, the advances were generally met with the technically-in-the-eyes-of-the-Fates virgin goddesses happily transforming Ares into a rabbit for Artemis’s hounds to chew on) in favor of easily defeating his troops in a battle and watching him stew in rage (and if it gave them an excuse to spend time with the other, well, that was their business, wasn’t it?). It was very rare for Ares to truly get under the goddesses’ skin, and retribution was always swift when it came.
But this.
This deliberate destruction affected solely to wound one of them was unprecedented coming from Ares, and the careful consideration of the setting and timing of the fire frankly smacked of a collaborative effort-
Athena reached into her own mind and grabbed a hold of her errant thoughts, pushing them away for later consideration. Her infallible logic dictated that she deal with the most immediately pressing situation, which currently appeared to be providing comfort to the other goddess. As a strategy goddess, dealing with emotions was not exactly Athena’s forte, but having known Artemis for several millennia, she was much more in tune with the other goddess’s emotions than her own at times.
So she crouched down next to Artemis, and she didn’t move away when Artemis leaned lightly into her. Instead, she began to trace patterns in the dirt with a finger.
“Nature is a wondrous thing,” she murmured. “So many moving parts and systems, it may be considered by some to be the world’s most important and impressive machine, far surpassing any creation of Hephaestus. Everything affects everything else and is affected by everything in its turn. So everything is connected.
“Being a part of nature,” Athena went on, finger still tracing the ground, “fire, it would seem, follows this rule, but who or what decides what effect it has?”
Feeling Artemis begin to rouse at her words, Athena continued on. “Hestia is a goddess of fire, but hers is the warmth of the family hearth on a cold day; a comfort, not a destructive force. So, by that singular example of fire as a helpful force, one can infer that there are other instances of this phenomenon. For instance,” Athena rose and stepped back, drawing Artemis with her, “under the right circumstances, a fire can be cleansing, letting the Earth rest before growing back stronger.”
A stalk of green shot up from Athena’s tracings. Another shot up next to it, then another, then another. They grew quickly skyward, thickening and unfurling perfect leaves. Soon, growing at the accelerated rate that they were, an impressive collection of olive, walnut, and ivy-covered cypress trees stood before the two goddesses, a small green dot in the midst of the charred wasteland around them. Little flowers and herbs sprouted along the ground, blanketing the area around the trees and masking the stench of smoke with their sweet smell.
Artemis laughed quietly and stepped lightly over to a large cypress to press her forehead against the bark. She murmured something quietly under her breath and stepped back, a smile spreading quickly over her face as a small deer stepped out from the bark. It flicked an ear at the goddesses before turning to spring away into the trees, little red flowers and tree saplings springing up from its footsteps.
Athena stepped forward to join Artemis at the edge of the little grove. “See,” she said. “Destruction and devastation, with a bit of determination, breeds beauty.”
“I suppose we should thank Ares, then,” Artemis responded, a little smirk playing across her lips.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Of course not,” Artemis laughed, (“Good,” Athena thought, “that laugh draws predator and prey alike out of the shadows; the world was missing it.”) and she drew Athena forward by the hand. “Come, Athena, we have a forest to regrow.”
And so it was,
That grey-eyed Athena
And silver-haired Artemis
Set upon the world
This creed:
That what may destroy
May also create
That the Earth,
As its inhabitants do,
May cleanse and rest
Forevermore, actions balanced
Destruction and Creation
Civilization and the Wild
Twined together
As strings of Fate.