Percy was practicing in the courtyard. A long, thin blade—Riptide—in his hand as he slashed dummies stuffed with red cotton. He was sweating, his curly blond hair stuck to part of his forehead. His ocean blue eyes glued to the dummies as if they were really fighting back. There was no one else around as it was dark out, and most of the other campers were eating dinner and sectioning off pieces for the gods. He grunted as he kicked the dummy, not even noticing you.