Searching for Pan was, as satyrs say, "sweet chills". It was an opportunity that not a lot of satyrs got, and it grounded them into a sense of purpose in life. Let me explain.

Satyrs, on the whole, have a lot of psychological issues. "Man, doc, I love her… and I know it's natural… but every so often I just like take step back and think 'Whoa. I'm in love with a freaking tree." I myself went through a period of intense turmoil in my adolescence when I fell in love with a blueberry bush. Hundreds of hours of therapy. Hundreds.

So, searching for Pan presents an alternative primary goal in a satyr's life than chasing the babes. Which is basically what most of us do. Searching for Pan is exciting, fun-filled, and rewarding.

At least, that's what the brochure said.

After my umpteenth year of searching, my escapades in the year were starting to look increasingly mild next to my summer escapades with Percy and Co. False lead after false lead. My motivation, which had already been compromised after my first year, was rapidly dwindling. It was like trying to solve an impossible maze: challenging for the first ten minutes, then boring. Tedious. Mind-bogglingly frustrating. And then, you think you see a solution, and it turns out to be a dead end and you tear your hair out. And it never gets solved.

Quite honestly, I was prepared to quit. Throw in the towel once and for all. Move on, settle down in some nice forest, and maybe eventually warm a seat on the Council of Cloven Elders.

And then she came along.