Ares walked more carefully back the way he came, the uphill going more treacherous than the downhill. The baby was making uncomfortable noises against his chest as he went, pushing branches aside, protecting the child from the whipping twigs.
After a few strides, he came to a stop, and glanced back. The growling and screaming gave him some sick satisfaction, but he felt a tug, like a warning, something that told him to think again. Maybe he could be lenient, this once. For Aphrodite.
“The Fates will weave your future,” he intoned. “Let them see if you will live or die.”
And then the baby puked all over his shirt.
“Aww shit! Fucking- gross-” Whistling loudly for the dogs, he carried on, making his way more quickly back to the motel. The dogs came, blood on their muzzles, and for a moment he gave Sparta an approving scritch on the ear.
Ares realised, when he got to his car, that while he had bought the damn baby seat, he had bought nothing else, so he just took everything the boy had left in his motel room and chucked it in the trunk. It would probably be fine until he got back to New York. At least getting back would be faster than getting here.
And just before he pulled out of the car park, he sent a short text message to Melpomene.