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Honestly? The under mature satyr didn’t make it twenty feet. Polyphemus scooped him up into his hand and said, “Lady Cyclops you are smaller than a regular Cyclops. But no matter, I still love you.” He beamed like that comment made everything better.
Grover wanted to just jump into the monster’s mouth right then and there. His runaway attempt: Fail. Instead he twirled an imaginary piece of hair on his finger.
“Where were you going though?” The worst Cyclops in the history of Greek myths looked genuinely hurt.
Grover patted his wedding dress down, smoothing out the lumps. “Oh, you know…here there-everywhere?” Polyphemus grinned and a large amount of drool trickled down his chin. The Cyclops took no notice.
“I like a woman with humor. You will entertain me when we are married. Now come, we will marry tomorrow.” He patted Grover on the head and they started to walk away.
“Are you sure you are not a goat man?”
“Oh yes quite! Please don’t eat me!”