"She knew I lied," Orpheus answered, and his shoulders sank, a little defeated, as he did. Because it hadn't been a lie, not then. Not in the three thousand years since then, but time made him a liar. Did it do that to everyone, he wondered?
He turned back toward Asterion to ask, and found him flopped onto his back - was it only his imagination now that the question had sounded mocking? His lips drew tight and he crossed his arms over his chest, walking back toward their makeshift bed and sitting down on the end of his sleeping bag, out of reach.
"Nevermind. I guess it doesn't matter. Just a bad dream."