“Do you really think it’s any better for me
putting up with you through one of your throes?
Next time let me go hunting, for I’d rather be
off on my own – just this and no more do I plea.
But it’s more than you’ll allow, I suppose.
That’s exactly what you do when you feel harried.
And I promised Mother before we were married,
‘I won’t follow him wherever he goes.’
Who knows what sport you’ve made with those lithe human forms!”
“So it’s not you but I who’ve created these storms?
In that case, here…take your arrows, your bows.
Get out! I’ll hound your favorite wherever he goes.
We’ll see how well you can protect those mangy clods!
Off with you! Take to your heels, to your toes!”
Olympus, Valhalla – so it is with the gods.
[Previous: Fricka or Hera in One of Her Rages]
[Next: The Answerer]