Gather close to the tale of Atalanta, the swift-footed maiden, whose fate was bound by speed, pride, and the will of the gods.

From her birth she was set apart. Exposed on a mountainside by a father who longed for sons, the child was suckled by a she-bear and raised by hunters in the wild. Fleet of foot, sharper of aim than any man, Atalanta swore she would never yield to marriage.

Her fame spread across Greece when she joined in the great Calydonian boar hunt. That beast, sent by Artemis to punish a king’s slight, ravaged the fields and men who faced it fell in gore. Yet Atalanta’s arrow struck first blood, and the prize of its hide was given to her — though many men grumbled that no woman should bear such honour. Still, none could deny her skill.

But her father pressed her to wed, and so Atalanta laid a cruel condition: any man who wished her hand must race her. If he lost, his life was forfeit. Many tried, many fell, their bodies left along the course, for none could match her swiftness.

"Fleet as wind, her sandals fly,
None may catch her, all must die,
Maiden free, with bow in hand,
None shall rule where she shall stand."

At last came Hippomenes, bold but not reckless, who prayed to golden Aphrodite for aid. The goddess, smiling at love’s gamble, gave him three shining apples, bright as the sun.

When the race began, Atalanta sped ahead, her feet barely touching earth. Yet Hippomenes, running with all his strength, cast one golden apple before her. She glanced at it — so wondrous was its glow — and bent to seize it. He gained ground. Again she pulled ahead, and again he cast an apple, and again she slowed. At the third, her choice sealed her fate. She stooped, and Hippomenes rushed past the line first.

Atalanta, though fierce, kept her word. She became his bride. But in time, the two, overcome by passion, profaned a temple of Zeus with their embrace. In wrath the god transformed them into lions, yoked to draw the chariots of the mighty — together forever, yet never again wholly free.

"Apples fall, and fates are bound,
Lion’s roar on sacred ground,
Swiftest feet may falter still,
When gods command, all bend their will."

So the tale is told: of a huntress unyielding, of a race where love and trickery won the prize, and of the gods who never fail to humble mortal pride.