Stars. There was a profuse amount of them left in the sky this early morning.

The sky was pink and orange against the horizon. I had left the campers before sunrise this morning, claiming to seek an un-crowded environment. I was at least 2 miles away by now, having run as far as my stamina would let me before slowing to a mild walk, more of stroll really. We were camping near a cliff. I had made my way out to the edge a while ago, and I, making sure to balance carefully, was watching loose rocks fall into the open chasm below.

It had been only two weeks since Atlas had trapped me under earths ceiling. Two weeks since Percy Jackson's trial. Two weeks since Zoe….

I came to a small stone outcropping near a steep drop off. I flopped my weight heavily down onto the ground and leaned back, scowling irritably at the dirt clouds that plumed up around me for no apparent reason. I lay my back against the dew wet soil and stared at the top of the ledge. It was a mix of different textures. If you were to run your hand along it you would be able to feel it go from smooth, to rigid, then back to smooth again.

I remembered, Zoe used to lie back on the grass and think about anything and everything. I had never tried that method of thought, so I tried it now. My thoughts had never been pleasant, and quite recently they had gotten much worse.

It's your fault.

You shouldn't have gone.

You're ignorant.

You're selfish.

You're useless.

Zoe died because of you.

I closed my eyes as the tears aroused from their short lived slumber, filling my sockets and threatening to spill down my cheeks and stain the ground with my grief. If I had never left alone Zoe would not have come after me. She would never have left the others to find me. She would never have been poisoned by Ladon. It was my fault.

The tears flowed freely down my cheeks, soaking my hair, which I hadn't bothered to tie back this morning and was now circling my head like an auburn fan. I did my best to wipe the tears away. I ran my hands along my wet under eyelids and wiped my hands on the jacket. My fingers touched something cold and hard through the fabric. Sitting up, I reached my hand into the pocket and removed the contents. The athame I always carried had been stuffed inside. I held the knife in my hands and stared at it. The double edged steel blade reflected the morning light onto my jacket in a pale yellow glare. I sucked in a breath. Perhaps this was the answer to my problems.

I had heard of people harming themselves for the sake of their sanity, and if anything I needed that. I slowly slid the sleeve of my jacket up, pushing it to a stop just above my elbow. Leaving the knife to rest in my lap, I ran my fingers along my forearm in small, circular motions. I had been bathing far too much lately, and all of the moisture had been sapped from my skin. It felt like the ledge ceiling. Smooth, rigid, smooth again.

I repeated the movement of my fingers until I came across a smooth patch. It was located near the middle of my forearm, conveniently placed just below the cluster of visible veins at the base of my wrist. Clutching the blade in my right hand, I raised it up and put the sharp tip of it in the center of one of the dark blue lines in the skin.

I pushed the knife down, watching as my golden ichor spewed forth from beneath the blade. The pain was unbearable. I felt the tears returning and I bit my lip. I pushed the knife in deeper and deeper, until I hit something hard. My bone. I didn't care; I pushed the blade to the side.

"Arty?" I gasped and released the handle, trembling. The knife stuck out at an awkward angle.

Apollo rounded the narrow corner. The sun, which had rose above the tree line, outlined my brother's tall form and silhouetted him against the cliff side. He froze when he saw me, puffy eyed and unkempt. His eyes took me in, but they stopped on the knife. Rushing forward, he knelt beside and yanked the knife out. He pulled off his shirt and wiped the blood away so that he could see the maximum damage. Moving it away, he clasped his hand around my arm in an iron grip, turned it face up, and looked at me in a rage.

"What the hell?" He shouted. I turned my face away from him, but he grabbed my chin pulled my head towards him, "Look at me! What the hell is this?"

When I didn't answer he let go of my arm. He snapped his fingers and his medical kit appeared. He got straight to work. I sat perfectly still, doing my best to keep the tears away, to no avail. They came like a waterfall, and before long I was sobbing like a delusional lunatic. Apollo was silent as I wept, simply burying himself in focus.

It was a good thirty minutes before he finished his work, sewing and cleaning and wrapping. I looked back at my arm with a shaky breath. It was bound tightly in starch white gauze. The ichor had been cleaned away, and I could clearly see the irritation that my internal, diagonal cutting had caused. The skin around the bandage was red and ugly. I bit my trembling lip and slowly raised my eyes to Apollo's bare chest, before looking up at his face. I found I could not look him in the eye, and settled for resting my eyes on his right eyebrow.

He reached out and gently caressed the bandage, "Why would you do this to yourself?" He asked me softly. "Is this about Zoe?"

A pitiful sob escaped me, indicating that his suspicions were correct.

"Arty?" He reached out and pulled my shoulder slightly. I scooted myself forward, using my good arm to push myself towards him, until I was sitting in front of him. I leaned my head onto his shoulder. I expected him to push me away, disgusted with my behavior, but he didn't. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and held me protectively.

"I-I c-can't do this anymore." I sobbed, "I just can't. Not after-!"

"Shh, just calm down." He said quietly, stroking my hair.

I cried for what seemed like forever, but was really only a few minutes. When I was finished I pulled away, and he let me go.

"I'm sorry." I said, "I just needed to forget, if even for just a second."

"I understand." He replied.

"What does it feel like?" I asked him. For the first time since his arrival I was able to look him in the eye.

"What does what feel like?"

I looked out to the horizon, "Losing a child, a friend. Someone important." I shook my head, "You have so many people that are close to you, that you love and would protect with your life. When one of them dies, how does it feel?"

He looked at to the horizon as well, and took a deep breath, "It feels….."

He fell quiet for a moment. "It feels like this."

I looked at him, to find his gaze already trained on me, "But I don't dwell on it, because I know, or at least hope, that they wouldn't want me to break down over them." He grabbed my wrist and lifted it, "They wouldn't want me to hurt myself because of them."

I looked back at the horizon and tried to focus on something. I had never thought of it that, way that Zoe would not want me to cry over her. We were engulfed in silence once more, longer this time, neither of us knowing what to say. I thought about Zoe. She was a good friend, a good huntress. I should be glad, she died happy didn't she? I noticed that despite the sun rising higher and higher into the sky with each passing minute, Zoe's constellation was still resting above the tree line. A sudden realization hit me.

I looked back at Apollo, "Did you want something?"

He caught my gaze, "No, I just wanted to see if you were okay. You've been distant lately."

"Oh," I looked down at the ground, "Well, do you want to go back to camp?"

Apollo stared at me for a second, before gripping my arm once more, "promise you will never do this to yourself again. Promise me."

I grinned weakly, "I promise."

I looked down the path that led to the camp, then back at him, "Race ya'"

By far the crappiest ending I have probably ever written. Oh well, please review!

-PoisonBones