The next day, the quiet, ginger, Scottish girl he spoke with by the water had changed back into the creature that seemed to be raised in the wild.
Elliott woke up at an ungodly hour to the sound of his bunkmates moving about, talking and laughing loudly. He wasn't sure what time he had wandered back into his cabin, but it had been long after Winifred left his side. How was he supposed to sleep after that? All he could do was think of her – the ghostly strands of hair that whipped around her face, the slope of her shoulders as she sat hugging her legs, that crooked smile that made him think that she knew way too much…
No, there was no way he would be able to sleep.
But he at least managed to make it in before the sun started to peek on the horizon, but that wasn't saying much. While most of the campers rushed out to eat breakfast, Elliott took the quiet time to shower to wake up. He realized it had been too long since he last showered, and he was grateful to wash all of the grim from travelling off. He still had the black of the oil from the automaton sea serpent caked underneath his fingernails.
Once he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes that appeared in the trunk at the foot of the bed (jeans and a bright orange camp t-shirt), Elliott made his way toward the dining pavilion amongst the tiny throng of winter season campers. Watching them, he wondered how full the camp was in the summer time.
He got his food and gave an offering, once more smiling at the small girl at the hearth, and then found a seat at the end of the Hephaestus table with the least campers. Once more, when he touched his goblet, it filled to the brim with hot tea. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to that. He ate by himself, half-listening to the conversation around him. Winifred arrived at the pavilion shortly after wearing her cutoff shorts and a huge jumper that dwarfed her. She didn't notice him.
As he was finishing up his breakfast, Elliott noticed Seamus hurrying over to him with his normal, worried expression. He tried not to be too bothered by it – the satyr seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety. "Morning," he said groggily, turning his attention back to his tea.
"You're training with Win this morning," Seamus let out in a quick breath of air, sliding into the seat across from him. Without a word, he reached for his napkin and promptly began chewing on it. "Have you picked a weapon yet?"
This caught Elliott off guard, and he found himself choking a bit on his tea. "What?" he said flatly, doing his best to keep his expression level. Automatically, he found himself glancing over at the Ares table, where Winifred had the large boy sitting beside her in a headlock. He seemed to be in a spot of trouble, scrambling for purchase while the other Ares campers just laughed. "No," he went on firmly, disbelievingly, looking back over at Seamus.
For a moment, the satyr just stared at him. "You don't have a choice," he scoffed, as if that was obvious. "You need to learn. She'll be your best teacher. And with the weather getting cold…" He trailed off, shrugging. "Look, the prophecy said 'the spring of the seventeenth year.' Both of you will be seventeen in not much more than a year. We're running out of time."
Elliott looked down at the remains of his toast on his plate, not wanting to think about any of this right now. It was too early, and he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the fact that he was supposed to do something to stop this enemy. Only an idiot wouldn't believe what was right in front of his eyes, but that didn't mean it was an easy pill to swallow. "But… She'll kill me," he argued meekly, looking back up at him with wide eyes.
Seamus gave him an apologetic smile. "Not too much though," he answered, in a voice that was supposed to be comforting – or something.
His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed down the rest of his tea. "Yea, thanks," he said grumpily, rising from the table. "So a weapon?"
The satyr nodded enthusiastically. "Eventually you'll create your own, but Leo wasn't available to show you around the forge until this afternoon." He grinned. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself."
But there wasn't much Elliott could do about it – he was going to have to at least try to enjoy some of this if he was stuck here.
He settled on a sword. It seemed like the simplest weapon for him to choose, and he already knew how one felt in his hand. That didn't mean that Elliott had much confidence, though, if any at all. He felt a bit like he was getting thrown into the lion's den as he made his way toward the practice field with Seamus at his side. The satyr kept trying to offer up suggestions, but none of them seemed like they would be much help. He didn't know what he was doing, and he was fairly certain that this day was going to end in blood. Even the thick leather armor that Seamus had helped him into did nothing to ease this thought.
Winifred was waiting for him at the far end of the practice field, close to where they had met the night before. She sat cross-legged in the grass, bent over her spear. That ridiculous red hair of hers hung forward like a curtain, blocking her face from his view. She had abandoned her jumper, and had it tossed aside in a careless heap. Elliott idly wondered if it was too late to turn and run away.
Just as he was seriously considering that option, Seamus gave him a helpful shove forward. Elliott stumbled over his feet, twisting his ankle and cursing quietly to himself. Winifred looked up at the sound of his voice, raising an eyebrow at him. "Well it's about time," she said with a scowl, clambering to her feet.
Nervously, Elliott touched the hilt of his sword for a bit of reassurance and tried his best to smile. "I'm sorry, no one told me I was supposed to be here," he started awkwardly, scuffing his foot in a patch of dirt.
She just stared at him incredulously, like she couldn't believe he had the gall to talk to her. After another silent moment of consideration, she jabbed her spear at his gut. "Stand up straight," she snapped, and he had to listen to her. Winifred tilted her head, her expression very still. Elliott decided that he didn't like it when she looked at him like this – all intense, big eyes. And the fact that she had a very pointy spear thrown over her shoulder did not make him feel any more comfortable.
Then she started cursing in Greek – or, rather, Elliott assumed it was cursing. She spoke low and under her breath in sharp words that he didn't have to be familiar with to know that they weren't good. He frowned at her, straightening his shoulders a bit. "What?" he asked, automatically a little bit defensively.
Winifred's gaze rose to meet his, and eyebrow quirked. "Well, I heard what happened on the OOCL Bremen," she started with a casual shrug. "With the automaton." She was still watching him with that curious look on her face, that look that he didn't quite trust.
"Oh… that was an accident," Elliott said slowly, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. He tried to keep his shoulders straight, his voice unwavering.
"Clearly," she answered shortly, poking at him once more in the stomach with her spear.
Elliott jumped back out of habit, despite the fact the spearhead did nothing but graze harmlessly against his armor. He attempted to regain some of his dignity, but it was too late. Winifred was already watching him with her eyebrows raised, an unreadable expression on her face. He felt quite stupid, and he found himself wishing that she would just talk to him instead of looking at him in ways he didn't understand.
"I heard," she went on, resting her spear on her shoulder once more, "that the Hero Elliott Paton–" (she managed to say this without a shred of irony, somehow) "–Son of Hephaestus, was given a sword for the first time." She began circling him slowly, eyeing him and occasionally adjusting his posture or armor.
As she continued telling him the story he already knew, her tone went a bit formal – as if she was reading a Very Important Document. "…And he took that sword and battled a serpent large enough to take down a transatlantic cargo ship. It was surely an epic battle to be remembered." She kicked at his knee, forcing him to take up a different stance that seemed to please her because she went on. "He rendered the beast slightly handicap, and then proceeded to scale it and tear it apart with his bare hands."
She was in front of him now and their eyes met. Elliott felt that betraying heat in his cheeks surface as she watched him with a very exaggerated look of awe. So she was going to mock him now. Of course. At the sight of his blushing, she broke into a grin, and he was forced to duck away from her gaze. "I suppose you talked to Seamus," he grumbled unhappily – leave it to the satyr to embellish a little bit. He supposed the goat might have 'accidentally' left out the bit about the serpent not actually being real. While this could have potentially made him seem much more fearsome than he really was, he wasn't shocked to see that it had backfired. It was only natural.
Winifred nodded enthusiastically, that insane grin still on her face. "He also says you faint. Let's see if that's true."
Elliott only had enough time to mentally curse Seamus before she attacked.
As it turned out, Winifred was unable to make him faint.
Although he was grateful for this outcome, Elliott still sulked away from her several hours later feeling as if he had been run over by a truck. He had spent the better part of the day running away from her, feebly attempting to stave off her attacks (both physical and verbal), and reminding himself how to breathe. At one point, when the sun was high in the sky, he actually had been on the urge of toppling over. He was sweating through his t-shirt, the armor felt too heavy, and a small crowd had begun to gather. He began to feel woozy and Winifred faltered, her eyes darting from his face to the giggling crowd behind him.
And then she turned on them. Screaming, she ran toward them and threatened various ways of bodily harm if they did not go away. It didn't take long for the crowd to disperse, mumbling unhappily amongst themselves. She turned to Elliott, her expression softening for the briefest of moments, and then she was on him again.
But he did not faint.
Elliott made sure to tell Seamus this the first moment he saw him, which happened to be seconds after he left Winifred in the clearing. The satyr looked wholly impressed, and even doubly pleased when he learned that any wounds he had procured were very minor (although several were also self-inflicted; Elliott left this detail out.) He wasn't sure if he should have been offended by Seamus' obvious surprise, but he was almost too tired to even care.
"You know she was just going easy on you…" Seamus started as they neared the Hephaestus cabin.
Elliott straightened slightly, frowning down at the satyr. He hadn't wanted to think about that. It was obviously true – today had been much too easy – but he had refused to think about it. But he had seen her training that first day; she had been ruthless, and half the campers seemed to be a little bit afraid of her. He could only think that this meant training with her would get much worse before it had a chance of even getting a little bit better. They only had a year, after all.
"Yeah, whatever," was his only answer before he ducked into the cabin to change before his shift in the stables. He was looking forward to the quiet.