Nico was around nine years old. He hadn't been anywhere by himself, had always had a babysitter if his dad was gone. He wasn't used to fear, wasn't used to being alone.
The corn kept getting taller. He was half its size, with pants that were too big and a hoodie that had been his father's. It was soft, warm. But it still didn't keep the chill out of his bones whenever the wind decided to blow.
What did the tornado bell sound like again? He expected it at any moment, the wind having been stronger than he had ever felt it. Where would he go if there was a tornado? He couldn't see anything over the corn, couldn't see the moon, couldn't see the stars.
It was dark.
"Percy!" he stood still at a fork in the path, tried to decide which way to go. Which way would Percy have went? "Percy! Where are you?!"
His older neighbor didn't answer, nor did Nico expect him to. The corn was too loud.
His bladder ached and stabbed at his side, his pants kept falling. The wind stung at his tear filled eyes and sore throat, sucked any moisture he had left out of him.
Nico clung to one stalk of corn when the wind got worse, when it got so strong it almost blew his small body away. It was then that the corn changed, that it bent down and surrounded him. When the wind was gone and he stopped shaking, he looked around to see that everything was the same.
But something had changed.
"Percy?" his voice was nothing more than a squeak. The stalk of corn he clung to was surprisingly sticky. "Percy, I'm scared."
He pulled his arms away, saw the blood coating where the corn had been. "Ow..." He looked around, heard no more wind nor anything but the corn.
Though the wind was gone, the corn still shook and rustled.
It still made its noises.
For when the corn was fed, it pulsed and celebrated over the joy.
The years of starvation were over.
The drought had finally ended.
The blood would once again water their roots.