Apollo tossed his head, shaking his rich, dark brown hair out of his piercing blue eyes. He flicked his reins slightly, and his steeds changed direction, heading towards Delos and his mother. His victory over the Python was still fresh on his mind, and he had naught to do but relish in his victory. He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. Ah, what a glorious day!

As he passed over a field, he saw a youth practicing with the bow. He reigned in his horses, and realized that it was young Eros, Venus’s boy. He ordered his steeds to land. Once on the ground, he dismounted and walked to stand behind the boy’s shoulder. Eros drew the bow, aimed, and shot. The arrow landed on the edge of the tree he had been aiming for.

Apollo laughed patronizingly, his veins still flowing with the glory of his accomplishment. “Ah, Eros. You are so naïve in the way of the sports of men. Here, let me show you.” He took the bow and arrow, drew, and shot. The arrow flew true and landed in the center of the trunk. Apollo laughed, handed Eros back his bow, and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Eros glowered. What right did Apollo have to treat him so?

Apollo chuckled. “Perhaps you should put down such a weapon, Eros, until you have grown. It is a wonder your boyish arms can even draw it! How old are you? Eight? Nine?”

“Eleven.” Eros answered with a scowl.”

Apollo leaned down and put an arm around Eros’s shoulders, obviously thinking himself doing the boy a charity by giving him advice. “It takes strength, patience, and precision to master such a fine weapon, qualities which I have and you, apparently, do not. See, I have slain the mighty Python!” He gestured at his chariot, where the huge skin was draped. He turned back to Eros and once again ruffled the boy’s hair. “Nay, little one. Go play with your love toys. Leave such warlike weapons to those worthy of them.” And with that, the beautiful god remounted his chariot, gave Eros a wave, and set off once more across the skies.

Eros scowled. His hands turned white where they clutched his bow, and the fierceness of his grip would have astounded even Apollo. “Your arrows might strike all else, mighty Apollo, but mine will strike you!” He whispered. And with that he drew an arrow and shot it straight into the Sun God’s heart. Then he withdrew another arrow from his quiver, caressed it thoughtfully for a moment, and took off into the woods with a secretive smile.