Those honeyed hues always watched those on journeys. That's what Hermes, or Mercury depending on the worshipper, would do. He guides souls. Like now, he follows a caravan on the Silk Road on the Asian continent. In a flash, he could be anywhere else. That's the plus of being a messenger god.

The wings on his sandals shift with the wind, his golden robes fluttering. He keeps a tight hold on them as he coasts along. It's an enjoyable job, at least. He gets to see the world and all of Olympus.

Hermes lets out a little sigh, feeling quite bored. "Quite the lazy morning," he mutters. His body stays floating among the clouds, fingers fidgeting with his staff. He always thought the wing motif was a little overdone, anyway.