For all he knows, the child could have been dropped from the Heavens.

When Odysseus stumbled upon the very young child, all alone and in the middle of nowhere, he was truly taken aback. Where had it come from? Who did it belong to?

There were no answers to any questions he had. Just the smallest creature he had ever laid eyes on, wrapped in a tunic made of the finest materials. It was so soft and round, so precious. The feelings that composed themselves within his chest were nearly overwhelming as he crouched in front of the child. He lifted it from the straw mat it lied upon. He held it in front of him, gazing at its youthful and innocent beauty.

“Hello there, little one…” his voice comes out in a whisper; he is unsure of what to do with himself and this being he has found. “My, who are you? Where did you come from, huh?”

He stands, holds the child against his chest. Looks around — there is nothing and nobody for miles. There could be no telling how long it had been out here. It is a miracle it is not crying.

Odysseus swallows thickly. What is he to do?