𝘷. 𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗞

1.1K 73 56
                                    

『 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾: 』

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

❝ 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝗆𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗈 ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━
𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

❝ 𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗞 ❞

▬▬▬𝖬𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖤𝖲 𝖥𝖱𝖮𝖬 𝖢𝖠𝖬𝖯, and we'd already been attacked by three of the most dangerous monsters in Greek myths

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


▬▬▬𝖬𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖤𝖲 𝖥𝖱𝖮𝖬 𝖢𝖠𝖬𝖯, and we'd already been attacked by three of the most dangerous monsters in Greek myths. We were forced into a dark forest, tracks covered by pouring rain.

I love being a demigod. You get the worst luck, the worst enemies, and, generally, the worst lives.

All four of us walked through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. It reminded me of the first time I'd met the Furies, five years ago. I shuddered, and wrapped my arms around myself.

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

I was pretty unsettled, too. If I'd known that the Furies would make a reappearance in my life because of this quest . . . I don't think I would have volunteered.

But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better."

"All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything."

He was right. When I'd thrown my backpack on the ground to join the fight, I'd been under the impression I could go back and grab it. I'd managed to strap my sword to my back with my belt, but it dug into my spine weirdly, and if I twisted, the blade would cut through my hoodie.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—"

"What did you want me to do? Let you get killed?"

"You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine."

"Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine."

"Shut up, goat boy," said Annabeth.

Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans . . . a perfectly good bag of tin cans."

We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. I moved to walk next to Percy.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "I couldn't get a good hit in. Annabeth's just-"

𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖨𝖲 𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖮𝖯𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 ➪ 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦Where stories live. Discover now