The Ten Thousand

BOOK EIGHT

The glowering Fates gnashed their white fangs,

Descending grimly, blood-spattered and terrifying,

Seeking out the fallen and longing to gorge on dark Blood.

Upon catching a man thrown down or wounded,

One of them would grasp him in her great claws, and

His soul would descend screaming to Hades and cold Tartarus. After

Satisfying her taste for human blood, she would hurl his body behind

And rush back again into the clamor and fray…

– HESIOD