The Truths Spoken In The Sea Of Lies

Rhea: I am not changing my outfit!

Circe's magic flows,

Poseidonas hues adorn me,

No, I did not copy you!

***

Waves lapped at the boat. Annabeth showed Rhea some things she'd salvaged from the wreckage Hermes's thermos (now empty).

If it can be filled with wind I wonder what other thing can I put inside. Rhea though. Imagine if I can put sunlight in here. She snorted at that though.

Thankfully all Rhea still had her belonging since she acted quick enough to not let Scylla bite half of her bag.

They sailed for hours. Now that they were in the Sea of Monsters, the water glittered a more brilliant green, like Hydra acid.

The wind smelled fresh and salty, but it carried a strange metallic scent, too-as if a thunderstorm were coming. Or something even more dangerous.

"We are exactly one hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest from our destination." Rhea said.

No matter which way they turned, the sun seemed to shine straight into Rhea's eyes, not that the girl minded, she loved the warmth it gave.

They took turns sipping from the Dr Pepper, shading themselves ... well Annabeth was shading herself Rhea was enjoying the sunlight, they talked about Rhea's latest dream of Grover.

"We have less than twenty-four hours to find Grover, assuming your dream is accurate—" Annabeth said.

"It is." Rhea said.

"And assuming the Cyclops Polyphemus didn't change his mind and try to marry Grover earlier." Annabeth continued.

"Yep" Rhea said bitterly with a glare. "You can never trust a Cyclops, nope never, that a big no-no."

Annabeth stared across the water. "I'm sorry, Rhea. I was wrong about Tyson, okay? I wish I could tell him that."

"You'll be able to trust me."

Annabeth looked at her. "How do you know ?"

"How did I know Ares led us to a trap last year ?" Rhea said.

"Oh ... right... speaking about that any words of wisdom ?" Annabeth asked.

"A witch resides, a Master of Art,

She will keep us and won't let us depart.

Women flock to her, lured by the magic,

They come to heal, to feel less tragic,

But beware young lads, for if you dare come.

You'll be turned to pigs, forever to hum.

There's only one way out, to break the spell.

Free the pigs and flee from this hell.

The boats await, at the shore, be swift.

For the witch's wrath is ever so swift." Rhea said.

"I didn't get half of it, can't you explain ?"

Rhea deadpanned. "You might as well ask an artist to explain his art or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search."