Penelope was in her room, weaving the funeral shroud for Laertes and unwinding it, as normal. Someone knocked on her door. She knew it was Telemachus because he was the only one who ever came in.

“Telemachus? You can come in.”

Telemachus did. Her boy was getting so tall. Well, he actually took after his father in the height department, so he was still quite short, but still. He was almost sixteen.

“Mother, I have something I must confess.”

Telemachus told his mother about how he hadn’t really been able to eat recently and how it made him nauseous.

After having a quite serious discussion about how this was a dangerous situation, Penelope let out a dry laugh, “What is it with Ithacan men and not being able to eat right? It happened with your father too.”