And when she said his name, Pegasus appeared, his huge wings decorously folded over his sleek horse’s back. He’d been galloping to keep in shape for the best part of the century, and now he sauntered over to Hera, smiling with his fine horse teeth. “Still talking about the same old thing? You all need exercise. You know, that’s your trouble; you need a good workout.” He strutted slightly but nicely and added, “I don’t mean to brag either, but being a god and an animal both does seem to give me certain advantages.”

Absentmindedly Hera stroked Pegasus’ hide, while Zeus turned speculative eyes toward Christ. “Suppose Hera’s right? he said. “I mean, suppose her insanity carries a certain understanding of issues … ?”

“Of course she’s right and utterly wrong at the same time,” Christ replied.

Zeus frowned his famous frown. “Now you sound like Buddha,” he said irritably. “He can’t give a proper yes or no answer either. He’s never even made up his mind if he likes existence to begin with.”

Pegasus’ divine animal nature got the best of him. Gently he disentangled his mane from Hera’s stroking fingers and said heartily, “Forgive me. This closed-in atmosphere really gets on my nerves. And I don’t give a hoot if people remember me or not, though it’s nice when someone does. I can always go out and gallop beneath the stars and nibble the grasses. And I’m only sorry you can’t do the same.”

“He probably doesn’t gallop at all, but uses his wings the minute he’s out of sight,” Christ muttered sourly.

Pegasus heard the remark, but ignored it. In his more sardonic moments he thought that it was his animal nature rather than his divine one that was his salvation, for it was the creature part of him that delighted in details, yet basked in a kind of generalized diffused good spirits that could also be quite gargantuan. Now, outside for example, he could appreciate the tiny trembling of the earth beneath his hooves, sense the dirt sliding beneath the surface—small earthslides that slightly shifted the tunnels in which the cool worms slid—and enjoy the summer moon that ever so slightly lightened the roots of the grasses, its rays traveling downward, staining the sliding underground worms with the slightest tint of silver.

Yet he could, when he wanted, use his wings to soar into the skies; and mentally to send his spirit into realms that were extraordinary even in divine terms. Now he nibbled the grass thoughtfully: There was something in the air—a hint of a change—a foreign scent. He perked up his ears. Extraordinary! There were visitors on the ledges below!