Feels Like Home

Perched atop a tree that he had so skillfully climbed, the son of Demeter napped, his golden blonde hair falling into his closed eyes. Most of the time, Dexter Harley's dreams were plagued with vicious thoughts and images of death (mostly of him or his loved ones, but occasionally total strangers), and memories of his sister. However, Dex found that sleeping in the trees or somewhere around nature usually eased his thoughts. His cabin, which was basically a mini-forest in itself, was always very comforting, but even the open windows and lack of cabin mates didn't compare to the fresh air and quiet that the actual forest could provide.

It was probably half an hour before dinner when Dexter was awoken, the setting sun shining bright through the treetop and making his eyes flash open. The fourteen-year-old groaned, half-asleep, and moved to roll over, obviously forgetting that he was in a tree. Dexter's eyes widened as he registered what was happening. He toppled off the low lying branch and willed the rose bush under him to sink back into the ground so he wouldn't get cut by the thorns. Dex landed on his chest with a grunt, his light green hoodie getting stained with dirt and dark bruises sure to be forming on his torso.

Dex rolled over onto his back, effectively making himself dirtier than before. He could feel his claiming gift, a sword named Rosebriar, press against his back in its leather sheath. The boy grabbed a hold of the tree's lowest branch and pulled himself to his feet. He worked to brush the dirt off of his clothes and out of his hair when he heard, or rather felt, footsteps on the forest floor nearby. He turned, quite hoping to see a satyr or a dryad. Being the son of Demeter, he got along with the mythological creatures of the forest quite well. He didn't draw hi sword, knowing that the monsters usually lived deeper into the forest and the majority of Camp's demigods were rather nice people.

Ryan pushed his way through the hunting grounds, a finished book on the history of Scotland in his hands. Squirtle was sleeping his jacket pocket, and Ash, his sword, was strapped on his back under his jacket. Having spent the day reading, Ryan was ready to go get some chicken wings at Camp

Stopping at the sight of a rather filthy boy falling from a tree, Ryan blinked owlishly. Stepping behind a tree, he watched as the boy stood, taking out his sword. Ryan took his out, stepping away from the tree.

"Who're you?" he inquired, reaching up to casually adjust his Rays baseball hat, swinging his sword. The boy didn't seem too hostile.