{BOOK 3} Percy Jackson's Sister

The Man Eating Dog is Harmless

    I trudged up the hill and let out a breath of relief when I could see the dragon.

    "Peleus," I called.

     The dragon lifted his head and let out some smoke from his nostrils. He sensed I was no danger and rest his head on the ground again.

     Peleus was a baby dragon, about twelve feet long. Chiron had gotten him to guard Thalia's tree. Ever since Luke Castellan had poisoned it last year, Chiron wanted any precautions taken to protect it from further attacks. If the tree was damaged, the borders were damaged, and camp would no longer be the safe space so many of us know it as.

     I jogged down the hill and made my way to all the action. Camp had started up for summer last Friday, so everyone had their schedules already and were on full training mode. Down in the training arena, about two dozen kids were sword fighting, some of them swung with grace, others looked like they had never held a sword in their life. In the strawberry fields, satyrs played their panpipes and kept the crops clean. The skies were scattered with pegasi who did donuts in the sky.

    Near the camp store, I spotted two familiar half bloods tampering with the camp van. I approached them.

    "The blue ignition wire, you dumbass," I said.

     Connor dropped the yellow wire he was holding and turned around.

    "Cassafras!" He and Travis tackled me in a big hug.

     "Hey guys," I hugged them back. "Now, who taught y'all how to hotwire a car?"

    "We were kinda doing trial and error," Connor admitted.

    "Too much error," I said.

     I instructed them how to properly rewire the car and made them swear not tell Chiron I was the one who had taught them. I headed towards the sword arena.

     The arena was Percy and I's turf. We were the camp's best swordsmen, we were yet to fight for the title of the absolute best, we would both get tired and call it a draw. Although if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure Percy could take me if he trained hard enough.

    Before turning the corner into the amphitheater, I heard an ear shattering WOOF!

    An enormous hellhound laid at the center of our fighting space, wagging its tail contentedly. At its feet, a man with grey hair and my brother stood, swords clashed against each other's.

    "That's a hellhound!" Percy shouted.

    "She's harmless," the man lowered his sword. "That's Mrs. O'Leary."

     Percy blinked. "Mrs. O'Leary?"

     At the sound of her name, the hellhound barked again. She excitedly tossed the practice dummy she had been chewing in the air. It was like watching an evil Clifford, eager to play.

   "Good girl," the man said. With the hand that wasn't holding his sword, he grabbed the armored manikin by the neck and heaved it toward the bleachers. "Get the Greek! Get the Greek!"

   Mrs. O'Leary sprinted towards her toy and squashed it underneath her oversized paws. She chewed on the helmet with joy.

    "Considering we're part Greek," I pointed out, "that's not very comforting."

     Percy turned around, just now being aware that I was there. He gave me a lopsided smile. "You're not dead!"

    "Unfortunately for you, not yet," I hugged him.

   The swordsman smiled awkwardly. He was probably in his fifties. His ashen beard matched the color of his hair. Even though he looked older, he seemed in shape and full of energy. He wore black mountain-climbing pants and a bronze breastplate strapped over an orange camp T-shirt. A strange mark just barely poked out of his shirt, near his neck. It was a purplish blotch like a birthmark or a tattoo. Percy and I must've been staring because he shifted his armor and covered it up.