Rain soaked through Poseidon's skin making him shiver. Which was ironic seeing how his home was literally the ocean. Coughs rattled through his chest, making him wheeze. Still tasting the ichor that coated his throat. He couldn't really do anything until his wounds healed. Stabbed by his own trident, how sad and pathetic was that? His brothers will surely make a mockery of him. After all, they still haven't let go of the fact that they helped get Odysseus's ship untangled from his hair. He'd let up the storm just enough so Odysseus could go home, but he was too tired, and in too much pain to stop it completely. He hated that he had lost, that Odysseus had won. He wasn't even sure if Ares had somehow helped that mortal bastard or if Hermes trickster blood was more powerful than he thought. Either way he was stuck here, the ichor staining his clothes and skin as waves crashed around him. Soaking him even more with the icy water of the night. It wasn't until he heard a wet slap against the rock followed by a childish whine. Managing the strength to see his child pulling themselves from the water the Siren tail that they had gotten from this mother curling slightly around them. Anger and worry consuming them they were not supposed to be outside of the water, let alone be here, just past the shores of Ithaca. No, they were supposed to be home where its safe. Not seeing him like this. Weak, bleeding, a product saved by mercy.