TM #153. Sunrise

Iolaus sat with his back against the boulder that sheltered the small campsite and watched as the stars slowly faded from the night sky. Black melted into purple as the heavens prepared for the advent of the sun. At this very moment, Apollo would be mounting his golden chariot, taking the shimmering reins of light into his hands. A sharp command and a crack of the whip would launch the blinding white horses into the sky and the start of a new day.

Rose and orange rays of light suffused the purple, heralding the imminent arrival of the sun god and his chariot.

"You're up early," said Hercules as he sat down beside Iolaus.

Iolaus shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"You're up before dawn."

"Yeah."

"You're never up before dawn."

"First time for everything."

Hercules nodded his understanding. It was the morning after their confrontation with the Archangel Michael and the Four Horsemen.

The first morning of the rest of Iolaus' life.

"It's been so long since . . ." Iolaus nodded toward the heavens and the approaching light. "I don't want to miss this."

Hercules looked at his dearest friend. "Neither do I."