¹POCKET FULL OF POSIES. p. jackson

𝐈𝐈. godly families are messy

pocket full of posies
❛ ii. godly families are messy ❜

━━━━━ OVER THE WEEKS, things had changed. And not in the friendly, making progress type of way. It was like Camp Half-Blood was becoming a shell of what it once was. It was like someone stormed past the magical borders and carved out the heart of Camp and ran off, a thief in the night.

Which is virtually what had happened.

On the surface, Camp Half-Blood didn't look all that different. The Big House was still there with its blue gabled roof and its wrap-around porch. The strawberry fields were still baking in the sun. The same white-columned Greek buildings were scattered around the valley—the amphitheater, the combat arena, and the dining pavilion overlooking Long Island Sound. And nestled between the woods and the creek were the same cabins—a crazy assortment of twelve buildings, each representing a different Olympian god.

But there was an air of danger now. Posie could just sense something was off, that something was wrong. And she wasn't the only one. Instead of playing volleyball in the sandpit, counselors and satyrs were stockpiling weapons in the tool shed. Dryads armed with bows and arrows talked nervously at the edge of the woods. The forest looked sickly, the grass in the meadow was pale yellow, and the fire marks on Half-Blood Hill stood out like ugly scars.

It had been horrible to watch the progression happen, especially when there was nothing Posie could do but watch.

Last summer, Apollo had told Posie that her ability to see beyond what others could was a gift—a gift of foresight that not many possessed. Back then, Posie wasn't so sure if her father was correct. Even now, she still wasn't sure. All she could do was watch horrible things happen, that heavy sense of déjà vu taunting her, as if she did know something. It nearly drove Posie mad to know she might have seen something in her dreams that could help, but she wouldn't know it until it was all over.

As she, Annabeth, Percy, and Tyson ( Wyatt departed from the group when he realized people were giving them looks ) made their way to the Big House, there was no summer greeting for old campers. Nobody stopped to talk. Nobody said, 'Welcome back'. Some did double takes when they saw Tyson, but most just walked grimly past and carried on with their duties—running messages, toting swords to sharpen on the grinding wheels. The Camp felt like a military school. And believe Posie, she had attended a couple before she had run away three years ago.

But none of that mattered to Tyson. He was absolutely fascinated by everything he saw. "Whasthat!" he gasped.

"The stables for pegasi," Percy said, frowning. "The winged horses."

"Whasthat!"

"Um ..." Percy blinked at the cinderblock building. Maybe he was getting flashbacks to last summer when Clarisse tried to shove his head in a toilet. "Those are the toilets."

"Whasthat!"

"The cabins for the campers. If they don't know who your Olympian parent is, they put you in the Hermes Cabin—that brown one over there—until you're determined. Then, once they know, they put you in your dad or mom's group."

The Cyclops looked at Percy in awe. "You ... have a cabin?"

"Number three." The son of Poseidon pointed to a low grey building made of sea stone.