The satyr Charoúmenos enjoyed his days frolicking through the fields, occasionally resting against the trunk of an old oak, or, when weather permitted, stretching out in the grass to bask his naked, half-goat body in the warmth of the midday sun.
On this particular afternoon, he danced near the riverbank, inspired to play a lovely tune on his reed panpipes. After a time, he paused to take a drink, bending down to lap the cool water up with his long purple tongue.
Once he’d quenched his thirst, he bounded over to the shaded comfort of a nearby sycamore, lying with his toned, muscular back against the firm, aromatic bark. Charoúmenos breathed deeply, appreciating the scent of the awakening forest as he drifted off into the realm of Morpheus.
His peaceful slumber remained unbroken until a heavy splash resounded from the direction of the nearby river, causing him to bolt awake. He rubbed his eyes, scratched the fur behind his ears, and redirected his gaze toward the rushing waters.
Charoúmenos was surprised to see a pale human male in a tunic running along the waterway. The boy, who looked to be nineteen or twenty years of age, appeared fearful, of what, the satyr could not be sure, but was in such a state of haste he stumbled, falling face-first into the deepest part of the riverbed where he was then dragged under by the rushing, relentless current.
Alarmed, Charoúmenos sprang into action, bounding as fast as his legs could carry him. He dove beneath the water’s surface, driving himself forward with a merman-style kick, allowing his powerful arms to pull him through the freezing, crystalline waters. The satyr poured every ounce of his strength into fighting against the will of the river goddess, whose appetite for mortal sacrifice was well known to all who lived within the forest.
Finally, he drew close enough to the youth to grab ahold of his arm, managing to pull him back to the safety of the shoreline.
Charoúmenos lay the boy down on the bank, then knelt to take a better look at him, dismayed to find the human wasn’t breathing. The goat man thought back to his mentor, an elderly centaur named Chiron, and tried to figure out what the wizened one would have done in this situation.
A memory sprang forth of a hot summer day years before, when he and Chiron came across a careless dryad who’d fallen into this same river. The bark-skinned figure had washed ashore and was desperately gasping for breath. In that moment, the centaur turned to Charoúmenos and began instructing him on how to rekindle air-deprived lungs, stating,
“You must remove that which is choking him from inside, but do not act forcefully. Be attentive, stay in the same rhythm as you work. Master that, and the dryad will survive to dance another day.”
The satyr now remembered the steps of the process and went to work as he had on the dryad, repeatedly pressing against the boy’s chest, tilting his head, and placing beastly lips against the blue mouth of the youth, filling those lungs with the essence of life.
But the boy did not stir.
Charoúmenos pulled back, panic beginning to set in, when somewhere deep inside, Chiron’s calm, steady voice whispered,
My student, focus, remain calm, and try again.
The satyr bit his lip, forcing himself to stay grounded, and pressed down again, counting to himself,
One, two, three.
He tried again, filling the young man’s lungs with breath, yet those soft lips remained cold.
The horror of having found such beauty, only to lose it so quickly, nearly broke the wild man, but he nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and made one final attempt.
Suddenly, the boy’s body convulsed, water sputtering from his mouth. He began coughing up that which had nearly stolen his life, his chest rising like a ragged set of bellows. For a moment, the human lay there in a daze, seemingly unaware of anything except his abrupt return to the land of the living.
Charoúmenos smiled gratefully and spoke a prayer:
“By thy hand, oh Hades, thou hast returned him to me.”
The youth, startled by the deep, raspy voice, bolted upright. Upon seeing himself face-to-face with a horned man of the woods, his eyes widened, lips trembling for a moment before he managed to stutter,
“Y-you’re… you’re a satyr!”
Charoúmenos nodded, a deep look of concern crossing his face. He scanned the boy’s lithe body for any other sign of injury, then explained,
“I pulled you out, but you were gone to Elysium, so I shared my breath to awaken you.”
The young man gave him a puzzled look and asked,
“Are you real, or is this a dream?”
The satyr grinned and replied,
“I am no dream. I am as you, made of flesh and bone.”
The boy reached out shakily, tracing one of his rescuer’s small, bony horns. For a moment, he lingered, his doe-like eyes filled with an unmistakable air of wonder. Charoúmenos chuckled,
“Normally men fear my kind..”
The boy drew back, blushing softly as he looked down at the ground, murmuring,
“You saved my life.”
The satyr nodded and said,
“I am Charoúmenos, third son of the great Gregorios.”
The boy glanced back at him, smiled shyly, and replied,
“Helios, I am Helios of...”
He paused, his demeanor darkening as he continued,
“I know not my birthright, only the title of the one who owns me as his property, Despotes Krateros.”
The wild man, unsure of what his new acquaintance meant, asked,
“Property? What is the meaning of this word?”
Helios looked surprised, but then, recognizing his audience, sighed sadly and whispered,
“I suppose it makes sense one born of nature would be ignorant of such a concept.”
He peered intently at his rescuer, causing something within Charoúmenos’s belly to stir. The satyr was no stranger to desire, but had never sat in the presence of a human before, especially not one so lovely.
A piercing whistle suddenly broke through the trees. Helios snapped to attention, his entire posture twisted into one of fear. The muffled sound of trotting hooves and snorting horses soon followed. From somewhere beyond the wall of cattails, a booming voice called out,
“Helios!”
The youth flinched at the sound, harshly whispering,
“Oh Gods, he’s found my trail!”
With that, Helios attempted to get up, making as if he were about to run, but the lingering effects of nearly drowning took hold, causing him to stumble backward. Charoúmenos, ever fleet of foot, jumped up, catching him mid-fall. The boy stared up at him pleadingly, feebly trying to embrace the goat man with what little strength remained within him.
Driven by a strong protective instinct, Charoúmenos recognized that while he didn’t understand why the human was so afraid, there must have been a good reason for Helios to attempt escape. Without another word, he scooped the mortal up, throwing the attractive new acquaintance across his furry, broad shoulder, and ran off, carrying Helios away as swiftly as his hooves would allow.
The satyr leapt over logs as he trampled through the thicket, feeling his heart race while he tried in earnest to escape the stranger; not knowing what fate awaited them if he failed, but having no desire to find out.
Finally, the sound of hooves faded away behind them, leaving only the chirping of the nesting birds overhead and the occasional snap of a twig. Charoúmenos slowed down, glancing around in an effort to gain his bearings.
As he ducked under a recently fallen sapling, clearing the bramble as he went, Helios groaned,
“I am grateful for my rescue, but feel as though I were a sack of turnips on the back of a wagon headed to market.”
Charoúmenos let out a rough, hearty laugh, steadily placed his charge down upon the fragrant earth, and said,
“Turnips, I know these roots. I’ve heard your kind go to so much trouble to grow them yourselves. Personally, I prefer to dig mine up where they choose to grow and roast them over a fire, they’re quite delicious when-”
It was then that Charoúmenos noticed Helios was shivering from the chill of their earlier watery excursion. The goat man rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully and said,
“Speaking of fire, I’d get one started to warm you up, but were I to light it now, when the sun is so high above us, the smoke would surely give our position away.”
The youth, lips quivering, gave him a searching look and asked,
“But how are we to warm ourselves without a fire?”
The satyr frowned, considering the situation, and took in the forest around them, delighted to see a sunny clearing up ahead. He took Helios by the hand, leading them to the glade, where he noticed a particularly broad-trunked oak draped fully in the afternoon light.
Charoúmenos let go of Helios, bounding over to the trunk and seating himself with his back turned against it’s warm bark. He motioned for the boy to sit next to him and said invitingly,
“Sit here with me. I may not be able to build you a fire, but the sun and my presence will surely keep you warm until dusk.”
Helios exhaled and nodded softly, sitting down upon the earth and yielding to the satyr’s company. The boy closed his eyes as he across Charoúmenos’s broad chest. His rescuer, in turn, wrapped his strong, hairy arms around the youth, pulling him close.
Helios settled in, let out a contented sigh, and murmured,
“Once, when I was injured, the doctor had my master wrap heated stones in cloth and place them against my sore muscles. Your form comforts me in the same fashion.”
The satyr grinned as he nuzzled closer to Helios. The exertion of the previous hour began taking its toll, leaving the horned figure half-dozing against his charge, but then a sudden, nagging thought entered his mind. Charoúmenos leaned in, wondering aloud,
“By what means did you find yourself running away from the man who thinks he owns you?”
The boy, eyes widening, replied,
“I... my Master has several slaves, but he said he had need of one such as myself, that I would be perfect as a... lure.”
Charoúmenos, confused, asked,
“Lure? Like the kind used to coax fish into a stew pot?”
The youth nodded, adding,
“Krateros. He brought me out here earlier this morning. I was relieved at first, thinking it would be a pleasant break from my duties on the farm, but once we’d eaten, he explained what he wished to accomplish by means of my presence and sent me ahead of him in hopes I might attract the eye of one such as you.”
The boy blushed as he continued,
“He made it sound as if seeing me would cause one of your kind to become so overwhelmed with desire that they... you, would pounce upon me and have your way without a second thought. I admit, I was terrified by my Master’s words, but so far, you have been far more nobler a man than he ever was.”
Charoúmenos gave the boy’s arm a good-natured squeeze and said,
“I can only wonder, had I been the sort of wretch Krateros believes satyrs to be, what was he hoping to accomplish with his trap?”
Helios considered the question for a moment and said,
“My Master worships Dionysus, the god of wine and revelry. Every spring he hosts a grand feast in the deity’s honor, often mentioning Dionysus’s fondness for satyrs. Perhaps Krateros meant to imprison you so your presence would draw the god out.”
Charoúmenos snorted softly,
“’Tis true, the god of wild joy often invites my kind to bonfire parties in the woods, although I haven’t attended one in some time. What a strange man your Master is.”
The youth bit his lip and added,
“Indeed, although now that I think of it, Krateros may have had more in mind for you than just...”
The satyr furrowed his brow and asked,
“Just what?”
The boy exhaled sharply, murmuring,
“My Master is... peculiar in his appetites.
Helios blushed, looking away momentarily before continuing,
“He’s always preferred the company of men, particularly those of a burly, hairy nature. I thought little of it, as he never showed similar interest in me, until the latest feast, when Krateros made me dress in white linen and fastened a pair of white feathery wings to my shoulders, ordering me to be the party’s stand-in for the god Eros.”
Charoúmenos remarked,
“You certainly are beautiful enough to play the part.”
Helios smiled shyly, then said,
“Thank you. Anyways, I was serving drinks in the courtyard, which was filled with several male guests. Most unexpectedly, Krateros blew into a horn, calling everyone’s attention. When he had all eyes on him, he began shouting,
“Dearest friends, tonight we turn our back on the excesses of modern life to embrace the heart of the wilderness!”
He turned around, peering into the darkness, and cried out,
“My word, it’s the children of Dionysus, come from the forest to join us in our festivities!”
Helios, shivering ever so slightly, pressed closer against Charoúmenos as he continued,
“Suddenly, several stout men appeared from the shadows of the olive grove, each wearing wooden horns tied across their heads and cloaks made of woolly goat hair. Krateros, clearly enraptured, then declared,
“Tis the spirits of the untamed realm!”
The men began stamping their feet while letting out a series of performative snorts. Then, out of nowhere, they stampeded forward, grabbing hold of their host. My Master feigned surprise, letting out a theatrical yelp, but I could tell by his expression he enjoyed it.
Two of the men darted forward, the larger of whom caught him by the arms while the other swept his legs out from under him, sending him falling to the ground. Krateros struggled to his knees when, smiling wide, boasted that no creature of the forest could make him submit.
One of the faux satyrs responded by raising the front of his tunic, revealing his large, fully engorged member. Horrified, I turned to leave, but my Master, seeing the attempted exit, shouted,
“Nay, Eros, god of love, you shall watch this most immodest display so I may receive thy blessing!”
A pair of armed guards eyed me, their expressions cold and merciless. I turned back, trying to avert my eyes, until I realized everyone was watching me.
With no other choice, I forced myself to smile.
Satisfied, Krateros lifted his hand, giving a signal to the others. The man with the large erection grabbed him by the head, redirecting his face so the brute could shove his member into his mouth. The other men pulled out their own hardened shafts and circled around Krateros, who then began grabbing at each of them, stroking their awaiting members with his hands while being choked on the-”
Helios stopped, his face reddening at the memory. Charoúmenos imagined the spectacle, experiencing a rush of heat as he thought of how marvelous it would feel, to be on the receiving end of such oral ministrations.
His own length stiffened involuntarily, pressing against Helios’s thigh. The youth jumped back in surprise, staring at the satyr, then glanced down, stunned by what he saw. Charoúmenos followed his gaze, tilting his head in confusion, and asked,
“Is something the matter?”
Helios looked away, stammering,
“N-no, I just... wasn’t expecting...”
The satyr glanced down, noticing his sudden tumescence, and shrugged. He smiled at Helios, cheerily noting,
“Ah, yes. It appears my pillar has risen.”
When Helios kept staring at him, Charoúmenos wondered aloud,
“Is my state worrisome to you? Surely your parts are also inclined to respond in kind on occasion.”
Helios, clearly embarrassed, muttered,
“I... yes, but never in front of another person.”
Charoúmenos studied him momentarily, noting,
“I’ve upset you.”
Helios shook his head, quickly responding,
“No, not at all!”
Relieved, the satyr grinned and replied,
“Oh, that’s good. I only wish for you to be as comfortable as current circumstance allows.”
Charoúmenos put his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as he returned to his relaxed stance. Helios glanced back at his rescuer, astounded at how unaware the wild man was when it came to human conventions. The boy paused briefly, wondering at his new companion’s oddly endearing innocence, and thought,
You truly are so unlike other men. Krateros made me watch to torment me, but you can’t even fathom how one could feel discomfort in embracing their own nature.
Helios felt his fear melt away, yet hesitated, unsure of what he should do next. Charoúmenos, sensing this, adjusted to better make space for him. Slowly, almost cautiously, Helios settled against the fur-laden fellow, enjoying the return to the warmth of his new companion, and did not move away again, almost as if the whispers of the wild had finally soothed his lonely heart.
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