With shaking hands, Lasthenes raises the still-bloody knife to his own throat. You scramble backwards to the safety of your Father – your eyes feel like they are bulging out of your skull. The noon sky above is brilliant and cloudless; the stream gently laps against its banks.

The foals are still motionless – dolls that have been discarded in the dirt.

The dream flickers for a moment – your boy-self is standing in the shallows of the stream, washing the foalblood off his hands and face. Father helps you back onto the banks, passes you a handcloth for drying, and then provides you with honeyed bread. A fragmentary thought from your man-self swells - Yes – this is more familiar, not like before…

The dream flickers again.

Lasthenes is struggling with the blade – his hands are shaking so much that he is losing his grip, and he is breathing hard, face rolling with sweat, eyes downcast. Father says nothing, as you crowd against his legs. A long minute passes, and then another. Your hands and feet itch, your flesh crawls – even as a boy, you know this to be madness and torture, this indecision. Your mouth is so dry that you cannot speak. You find that you are angry with Lasthenes - why can he not summon his manful dignity?!

Lasthenes meets Father’s eye – and there is no resolve, only terror. With a sudden motion, he draws the knife against his throat with both hands. But the cut is ragged, uneven - deeper on the left and barely a scratch on the right. Blood streams down the left side of his neck and bubbles wetly from the gash - Lasthenes is choking. He slides to his knees, attempting to seal the wound shut with his hands...

Father kneels besides you, calm and cool, and brings his face close. His breath is foul – like rotting meat.

“Boy – he did not have the strength to do his duty properly and suffers for it. His agony will be prolonged, now. A fitting end for a προδότης and a ἐπίορκος – a traitor and oathbreaker.” Your boy-self watches the man struggle, kicking his heels and writhing – another foal in the dirt.

Father is content with Lasthenes’ torment – he watches the man with interest. There is a light breeze – your bloody chiton rustles against your flesh. Your hands and feet are frozen in place. You wonder if you should act in some fashion?

>here’s the first vote of SATQ #4...

>Strength comes from duty fulfilled – pain and dishonor from duty unmet. Let the man suffer and die as Father wishes, and let him be judged by Αἰακός, judge of the dead, when his shade arrives in Tartarus.

>Pick up the knife yourself and end Lasthenes’ life swiftly, but not out of mercy. If he has betrayed your father, then he has betrayed you in turn. You deserve your own revenge; honor is stripped from the shoulders of the enemy that you have laid low yourself. WARNING: Will trigger another WILL check.

>Something else? Warning: may trigger a check, depending on the write-in.