For once he was actually glad to leave the island - as always, because of family, but this time because Zeus effectively ruined his previous weekend and he didn't want to have to deal with it anymore. If Zeus wanted the island he could have the goddamned island, nevermind how many times he ceded things he enjoyed in his life to one of two brothers who didn't seem to know when enough was enough.
But that didn't necessarily mean he liked it out here either. It was hot, and dry, and stifling and suffocating, and to a god who lived in the waters, who was made from the waters, uncomfortable was an understatement.
It was hard to breathe. Worse than the slow death all the Greeks were subjected to was actually knowing and feeling it kick in.
But she probably knew a lot more about that topic than he did.