Perseus flew over mountains and valleys, over farms and fields of wheat, over tiny towns and big cities, over roads and rivers and silvery groves of olive trees and finally over a vast salt plain, icy white, where the wind was fierce. By the dim light of the first stars at dusk, three ancient hags sat crouched in a ring around a fire, snatching something back and forth.
It was an eyeball! They only had one for all three. They passed it around like a toy.
“Where is it? I want it. It’s my turn, Scarecrow,” said one.
“Give it back!”
Perseus swooped in and grabbed the eyeball. It stared up at him.
“Witches, I have your eye,” he said. “I’ll give it back if you tell me where to find Medusa.”