The Fates' Trusted

Encounter

The cub, for all its eagerness to help, was a furry fluff ball of energy with a case of ADHD on par with my own. Grover was delighted to hold conversation with the wolf, and they chatted happily. However, the mood dipped for a second, as Grover explained the concept of death to the wolf cub. After the third accidental detour—a clan of hares had the wolf sheepishly redoubling on our trail—Annabeth told Grover to stop enabling distraction.

The sky was dyed in pinks and oranges from the sunset by the time the wolf led us into a clearing next to the stream. The smell of roasted meat drifted in the air. There was a pitiful, makeshift tent made of small plants and branches with tiny wisps of smoke coming from a half-dead campfire. Its inhabitant was a single boy who looked as if he'd seen better days. His hair was long and dark, resting on his shoulders. His clothes looked to be made in a sort of traditional tribal garb, handmade and made out of fur that had suspicious similarities to the wolf. He had a pattern of black dots etched on each cheekbone. There was a horn strapped tightly on his hip that made me feel slightly nostalgic.

He froze at first sight of us and cast a glare at the wolf cub who ignored him.

Annabeth was the first to speak. "Sorry to intrude upon your, um... land?" She cast a dubious look around the muddy campground. I tried not to shudder as I saw a group of soggy, dead wolves lying nearby. Not exactly a five-star resort. "We are just travelers but are a bit lost. Can you tell us where we are?"

With a weary attitude, the boy regarded Annabeth as he seemed to mull over what she said. In the end, he just shrugged. "You're at the east end of the Fastwater, just south of the Deep Forest."

The three campers stared at him dumbly.

"Uh, the what now?" I asked.

Now, the boy fidgeted. "The, uh, Fastwater? From the High Mountains?"

I remembered yesterday's mind-meld with the river. I couldn't fault the name. It was pretty fast.

"Right. We got that," Annabeth said with a smile. "What I really meant was if you know where the closest town is."

The boy frowned. "Town?" He said it slowly, with an unfamiliarity as if it was a weird new word.

"People, basically."

"The clans? That might be the Willow Clan. I'm not too sure. I'm, ah, just a wanderer like you." His head drooped at that. "What clan are you from?"

"We are clanless. I'm Annabeth. This is Percy and Grover."

"Clanless?"

I frowned at his tone. "Is that a problem?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "...No?"

I didn't know if I believed him.

"What about you?" Grover asked.

The boy raised his chin. "I'm Torak of Wolf Clan."

I glanced at the wolf cub who was sneaking towards a roasted carcass suspended on a spit and back at Torak. In hindsight, that answer should have been obvious. "Why aren't you with the rest of your clan?"

Annabeth glared at me for that question, and I realized too late that I could be breaching a touchy topic. Good job, Percy, you're already being insensitive to the locals.

"I don't know. I've never lived with them. I live -lived with my father."

Oh, yeah. Definitely the wrong thing to bring up.

"I'm sorry."

Torak heaved a sigh and scowled. "It's fine. He was killed by a bear."

"A bear? What kind of bear?"