¹POCKET FULL OF POSIES. p. jackson

𝐗𝐈. carnivorous sheep

pocket full of posies
❛ xi. carnivorous sheep ❜

━━━━━ YOU WOULD THINK Posie would be accustomed to things inhabited by monsters to look sort of ... appealing. It happened with Circe's Island, it happened last summer with Medusa, and now ...

              This didn't look like a Cyclops's island at all. No craggy rocks or bones were scattered around—unlike the island of the Sirens. There were no dried pools of blood, no skeletons of past heroes who had been washed up and killed by the monster, there weren't even any ugly mansions to suggest where the Cyclops could be hiding.

              Okay, sure, there was a rope bridge across a large chasm—but that was the only thing that suggested DANGER! TURN BACK!

              If anything, the place looked more like a tropical paradise than a Cyclops's lair. It had green fields, tropical fruit trees, and white beaches. If anything, Posie would've liked living there, if it wasn't for the small problem of a Cyclop infestation.

              As they sailed towards the shore, Annabeth breathed in the sweet air. "The Fleece," she said.

              Posie frowned at the approaching island, her mind going back to the dreams—of the man talking to her while showing her this island. It irked her; how could he know so much when she was the one with the gift of foresight?

              He doesn't need a gift of foresight, said Onesimus. Not the way you need it. Or any other demigods—or mortals.

              So what is he exactly? asked Posie.

              That's ... that's harder to say.

              But it sounded like Onesimus was lying.

              "If we take it away," Percy started, "will the island die?"

              Annabeth shook her head. "It'll fade. Go back to what it would be normally ... whatever that is."

              In the meadow at the base of the ravine, several dozen sheep were milling around. They looked peaceful enough, but they were huge—the size of hippos. Just past them was a path that led up into the hills. At the top of the path, near the edge of the canyon, was the massive oak tree Posie had seen in her dreams. Something gold glittered in its branches.

              She lurched forward, hands gripping the railing of Queen Anne's Revenge tightly. "The Fleece," she whispered. Then, she frowned. "This ... this is way too easy. We could just go up there ... and take it."

              Not exactly, Onesimus mumbled. You know what you heard in those dreams.

              "Posie—you're dreams," Annabeth said hesitantly, watching the daughter of Apollo. "You said you saw the island in your dreams—"

              "Yeah," Posie interrupted. "Yeah, um, I saw this island. And the oak tree. And the Fleece. I told you guys about it, but I—uh—wasn't entirely honest."

              Percy and Annabeth exchanged looks, as if to say, Again? Posie tried not to let it bother her. "I had the dream the night the bronze bulls attacked ..." She explained what happened: a dream of a paradise island, a glittering fleece that shimmered like a blanket made of pennies, and a monster roaring somewhere else on the island.