Blood of Olympus

II-- Piper

Disclaimer: Don’t own PJO or HOO… Rick Riordan does…

MERRY CHRISTMAS! THIS IS MY CHRISTMAS GIFT TO YOU ALL, SO. . . I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! <3

Only on to the second chappie of my story, but I’m already so excited!!!

A special thank you to everyone who supported me last chapter—read, commented and voted. . .

This chapter is dedicated to Raj280. . . Sorry for not dedicating a chapter to you in my House of Hades, but here’s one in my Blood of Olympus! Hope you like it!

And. . .

The shout-outs return in this chapter! YAY!

This chappie’s shout-out goes to. . .

partygirl237!

Thank you for voting on my first chapter! <3

Remember: read, comment, vote and FOLLOW! :)

II—Piper

Piper wondered which one was more intimidating—the giant, one winged owl that was hopefully dead, but more probably just lurking in the dark, thick blanket of the night sky, ready to attack at any given notice, or the goddess and her godling that seemed to be on their side.

Who is this goddess you have summoned to defend you, demigods? Enceladus’ voice reverberated up from the ocean floor.

Piper thought about denying the giant’s false accusation of asking for a goddess’ help, but the daughter of Aphrodite was afraid that if she did, the goddess might just change her mind in helping them (if the goddess actually planned on helping them, anyway).

So instead, she kept her mouth shut. None of her friends said a word, either.

The goddess spoke up, and Piper trained her eyes on the immortal being standing in front of her.

The goddess’ brown hair was fixed into an old-fashioned hairstyle, which looked a lot like those wigs that those judges wore in court. Her ebony black eyes followed the progress of the giant owl making their way towards them. She held a pondering look on her face, as if she was debating whether or not to shoot down the owl’s other uninjured wing.

Piper hoped she would.

She wore a pale green tunic that looked like it had been washed so many times that the colour had begun to seep out. She wore a necklace of emeralds around her neck, and a pair of light green stockings on her legs.

The goddess clutched the hand of her son, who looked maybe seven or eight years old (but was probably older if he was actually a god).

The boy was practically a younger, male carbon copy of his mother—they had the same brown hair, the same ebony black eyes. He fiddled with the cloth of his own tunic, looking like he was trying to yank it off. Based on the boy’s crinkled up face, tunics were not comfortable.

“Mother,” the boy whined, tugging on his mother’s hand and gesturing towards the open sea.

“Hush, Palaemon,” the goddess reprimanded, lightly. “We’re trying to aid these distressed sailors.”

The boy, Palaemon, pouted, but stopped nagging his mother.

‘Ah, Palaemon and Leucothea! I haven’t had an encounter with you in a long time!’ Enceladus’ voice boomed.