The prophecy says Femble Winter leads the Ragnaroth. Time is running out.

In moments of crisis, panic fills them up, ain't it?

My story doesn't end hiding in these woods. I should be out there finding out who I am.

I will not allow you to be confined with guards.

Stop thinking like a father for a moment and start thinking like a general rat!

God of War, Ragnaroth, available now on PS4 and PS5.

Hello, I'm Beshak Cummings. I'm Alexey Monstrous. I'm Caroline Criado-Peras.

At Autos, we think there's never been a more important time to slow down and make sense of the world.

Whether it's our slow newscast, our daily sense maker, or a compelling series like Sweet Bobby, London Grad or Visible Women.

You'll always get great stories, considered reporting and clear analysis.

To listen, just search for Tortoise Media wherever you get your podcasts.

Hello and welcome to Let's Talk About Mids Baby, the podcast where I live.

Tell you way too much about the ancient world and sometimes wonder how you ever take it all in because honestly I talk so much and I write so much that I often just sit and think like,

how is there this much information in your brain? Surely you can't fit anymore.

And then you know what? I fit some more. But today, no, none or very little of that today.

Kind of. Today I am just back again reading part two of Book Two of Obits Metamorphoses because well I need a bit of thinking time to come up with more episodes for you and record and edit more conversations and reading episodes are fun and easy and they make me happy.

So they better make you happy too or else I'll be super mad. You don't want that to do.

Hey, can you tell I've been working harder than normally and my brain is turning into a fine if incredibly knowledgeable goo?

Just a quick trigger warning. I know all of Greek myths are pretty abundant with horror shows when it comes to assault, but this is a pretty visual example of that. So just be warned.

This is Obits Metamorphoses translated by Brooks Moore Book Two Part Two.

Now after Feethon had suffered death for the vast ruin wrought by scorching flames, all the great walls of heaven circumference, unmeasured, views the father of the gods with searching care, that none impaired by heat may fall in ruin.

Well assured they stand in self-sustaining strength, his view at last on all the mundane works of man is turned, his loving gaze long resting on his own Arcadia.

...