What the... was Jude's first concious thought. She was in a warm bed, with sunshine streaming in from big, old-fashioned windows, like the kind in Aunt Petunia's home and garden magazines. There was a big glass of what looked like apple juice and a tiny gold-ish brownie on the table next to her. Her tummy rumbled. Wel, it couldn't hurt to have a little. After all, someone left it there, it'd be their fault if they didn't get it. She popped the brownie in her mouth. It tasted like oatmeal! With apples, and cinnamon, and peppermint, too.

The apple juice tasted like cocoa, like the kind Aunt Petunia always had her make at Christmas, with lots of spices, and candy canes in it.

"You're awake."

It was a man speaking from the doorway. He had curly brown hair and a warm voice. Jude nodded. She had wanted to get away, and then she was on a hill... She tried to think of her dreams. The man looked a bit familiar, but she couldn't place him. She cocked her head as she looked at him. He shouldn't need that chair... it was as if it was there, but not, at the same time. Like it wanted to look like something different than what it was. What it actually was. "You don't need a wheelchair."

The man raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything in response. Instead, he asked gently, as if he had a lot of practice doing it, "What's your name? Do you remember how you got here?"

She looked at him suspiciously. He seemed nice. But, then, Dumbledore had seemed nice to Judida, too. "M'Jude. I... I wanted to get away. Then it was sunny again, and then I woke up here. Where am I?"

The man nodded, more to himself than anything, and said, "You, Jude, are at Camp Half Blood. We train heroes, children that are part god, part human. You're one."

Jude just nodded, Judida had said that, too. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "I am Chiron, the camp activities director. Come with me, please."

Jude slid out from under the covers and followed him, still trying to think of what he actually was. He led her outside to the porch of what she now saw was a farmhouse. There was a fat man playing a game with goats. Pinochle! Mrs. Figg taught her how to play that! Ignoring Mr. Chiron now, she ran up to the fat man, and asked excitedly, "Can I play pinochle with you, sir? Pleeaase?"

The goat-people looked at her in shock, and so did Mr. Chiron. The fat man chuckled a little. "Well, aren't you an odd one? Er, I guess I have to say it, Welcome to Camp Half Blood, kid. Now who are you?"

Jude grinned. He was nice. "I'm Jude! Am I really part god?"

"You don't think the gods are real, girl?" the man asked, and his eyes glittered. Jude felt like she should be scared, but she wasn't. This man had to be nice if he worked at camp.

"I don't know. What's a god?" And why did everyone look shocked again?

"You don't know what a god is, Judy?"

"Jude. It's short for Judida. And no, I don't. Aunt Petunia said that God hated me 'cause I'm a freak, so how can I be part god?" Judida may have told her a lot, but she still didn't know what exactly a lot of stuff was. The bigger her had focused a lot on just giving her the knowlege she needed, not explaining it.

The fat man opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Chiron!" He barked, "Explain this to her!"

Mr. Chiron rolled his eyes. That was rude. "Of course, Mr. D."

He wheeled away. Jude looked at Mr. D, and cocked her head to the side again, watching him intently. "Mr. Chiron doesn't need a wheelchair," she told him. Then she hugged the nice Mr. D and trotted after Mr. Chiron. Why did one of the goat people drop a tin can?

AN/AR: Jude can see through the Mist better than most half-bloods. Not quite as good as a mortal with clear sight, but somewhere in between the two. I hope Mr. D is in character, I had a bit of a hard time writing him and Chiron. And while Jude may know a lot more than you're average four years old, but she still is four years old. I write her speech as a mixture between my cousins Alex and Genna, who were three and a half and five-ish the last time I visited their state. They both talk really well, compared to other kids theior age, I know, but they're the only kids that age that I can easily base speech patterns from. If you like/dislike/are indifferent to this story, Lords Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon order you to click the green-ish review button!

Mercy.