The Gift of the Lethe

Bedding Down

Pallas takes a few stumbling steps backwards to fall against a tree, breathless. The sound of the dogs leaving is already fading as they race away from her despite the injuries that leave them to move at a slower pace. It woun't be long until she can't see them at all. She would have thought that she had stumbled because she ran out of energy and the adrenaline is fading now that the dogs are gone, but that's not it.

Sure, she's tired, but she isn't exhausted. She fell out of shock, not out of fatigue. She could have sworn that she heard the echo of a young woman's voice, someone praising her. But . . . if she looks around, there is no one in sight. At least, no one beyond the owl that watched her from the trees during the entire fight, but the voice she heard doesn't match that of the owl.

So who could have been speaking, and how did she hear them? Could it have been her imagination? She quickly shakes her head at that. The voice sounded familiar, but it was absolutely not coming from within her own head. It wasn't her thoughts or anything similar. Someone spoke, someone real.

She shakes her head again, only to feel a chill run down her spine at the shifting weight of the golden cloak covering her shoulders and upper arms. Something about it scares her, although she doesn't know why. Or at least she doesn't remember. It protected her, so she shouldn't fear it, yet she does. Pallas shakes her head.

That's something to dwell on later, perhaps when she has her memories again. But not now. She reaches up to touch it, and her eyes widen in surprise when the fabric dissolves from her shoulders into silvery-gold light that streams towards the spear and settles just beneath the spearhead. She presses down on the spear's shaft with her thumb, shrinking it back down into a charm.

Pallas sighs and touches the other charms on her bracelet, sliding down the tree to sit against it. She fiddles with the owl charm, watching as the real owl preens itself on the tree. It looks to be completely unconcerned with what just happened, wholly preoccupied by its feathers. It looks down at her after a minute or two and tilts its head.

"Are you sleeping?"

Pallas blinks in confusion. "Why would I be sleeping?"

The owl has an incredulous tone to its next words, and Pallas has to restrain a giggle. "Why would you not be sleeping? The sun is almost risen, and that means it is time to rest."

"I'm . . . not nocturnal though?"

"You may be a day-walker, but you're following a night-walker schedule. I suggest you find somewhere to sleep. I will be doing the same, and I will find you come hunting-time."

"Okay . . ."

The owl ruffles its feathers and leans off the branch, soaring away from Pallas. She stands in the center of the small clearing with a frown. Where, exactly is she going to sleep? She's in the middle of a forest. One that doesn't look that welcoming, as the floor is covered with slippery needles and crunching leaves.

Nothing soft enough to sleep on. Maybe, maybe she could camp in the trees or something, but would she have any supplies for that? She can't go into town, even if there is one nearby. People won't take too kindly to a girl sleeping the day away on the street, they don't know her circumstances.

Pallas huffs. It won't hurt to check her bag, at least. It would be easier if she could remember what Percy helped her to pack, so she wouldn't need to take everything apart, but alas she cannot. It's the longer method, unpacking the bag, but it seems it's the one she'll be taking. Pallas sighs and swings her bag down, and then she blinks.

Did she really fight those dogs with it on her back. She hadn't even felt it. As the bag lowers to the ground, tension eases from her shoulders and she sighs, reaching up with one hand to rub at where the straps had dug into her flesh. She flips open the top flap of the bag and begins to lift items out. Right at the top is a sealed bag of what looks like lemon bars, ambrosia.

Tucked beside that is a small bottle of nectar. Those two must have been packed by Annabeth for convenient access. Beneath that is something small, a square of fabric, she thinks. It's a bronze color, the exact hue of her speartip. But why- There's no point to a piece of cloth this small, not unless she's missing something.

She turns it over to examine and frowns, her gaze snagging on a thin line along its edge. Is the cloth somehow folded? It would have to be impossibly thin, it's barely thicker than her fingernail as is. Even so, she slides her nail into the line, grinning when it slides in. She pulls on the thin layer that lifts up, unfolding the cloth into something much larger.

It expands into a tent, just the right size for the space she's in. Something flutters out with it, a scrap of white that lands on the leaves at her feet. She swoops down to pick it up, turning it over to find writing scribbled across it, thankfully Greek rather than English.

Pallas,

This is a tent my friend Leo designed, based on those that Artemis' hunters use. It's quite resilient, and should have everything you need for the night already inside it. When your done using it, just fold in at two of the diagonal corners and it'll pack itself right up. I hope you can put it to good use, and please bring it back in one piece if you can. Although, I would rather have you back than some old tent, only the latter can be remade. Good luck on your journey, wherever it takes you.

Annabeth

Pallas smiles. "Thank you, Annabeth. It's perfect."

She ducks inside the tent, expecting a bedroll and maybe a sleeping bag at the most, but the actual contents come at a shock. There is a real bed in there, not just a bedroll. There is a table beside it, not that big but enough for a couple of people to eat at. A chest sits at the end of the bed, a spot to put her belongings.

Seeing it, Pallas ducks out to grab her backpack. If there is a chest in here, she might as well stow her things instead of carrying them on her back. It'll save energy. The walls of the tent are unadorned, but she catches the faintest ripple of enchantments every few seconds. Once her things are stowed, she is completely prepared to explore further, but that plan is immediately put to a stop by the yawn that splits her face in half.

So instead of exploring, she steps over to the entrance flap and seals it shut, pinning the two sides together. Their edges melt into each other, leaving the spot a single piece of fabric, bare of anything beside a seam at the middle. If she had to guess, she would say that she needs to push on that to open the tent again, but she won't experiment. Not yet. She needs sleep before that, and the bed looks more and more inviting every moment she waits.

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What did you think of this? Did you like Annabeth's foresight? What do you think will happen next? Tell me your thoughts!

Happy reading and I'll see you next chapter!

~ Goddess of Fate, signing out