How weary his face was in the firelight. The sagging skin under his eyes cast strange shadows over those spheres. From that darkness, he watched man, wary and careful, crawl forwards out of the cold night.
“Come,” he said in what he hoped was their tongue. It was hard to know; their language changed so quickly. “Come to the fire.”
Man crawled nearer, his eyes darting up at the old, bearded god and then, with a slow, inescapable movement, fell back again to the fire. Again and again, man was entranced by the flames only to break free from the light, to look past it, at the old, withered creature whose face was a mask of moving shadows.
Prometheus sighed.
Tale Told 