Odysseus steadies himself, beginning another lap of the grounds when another set of footsteps begin to accompany his own. Odysseus glances around, his eyes locking like a hawk on a figure hunched over on a marble bench. In a rare moment of sympathy, Odysseus walks over, pulling his hood down so as not to be recognised and standing beside them "Tis a cold night. I fear bloodshed may be in the air. You, sýntrofos?"
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