The Curetes. Stationed under Zeus' crib (hung in the branches of a tree so Mad Pappy Cronus could find him neither in heaven nor on earth), they would clash their weapons and shout to mask the baby's cries, foiling the Search and Destroy. Thus the king-elect was weaned from his surrogate goatmam: amidst the clatter of acorns, spearpoints, and warcry lullabyes. Pretty badass.
Also the new (first?) ex libris for the Livingston household.
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