It was a dark night with almost no stars in the sky. On the horizon, a simple gray band made it clear that they were close to a big city, in the case, New York. Long Island was a place incredibly beautiful and nice and even away from the beach you could feel the faintest scent of sea air. Inside the closed tent of the war meeting, Reyna would like to be able to think better about what they are discussing, but they had walked in circles in various subjects and advanced uselessly to exhaustion until dawn. The scouts returning gradually, timid, disappointed by a raid without results on the location of Camp Half-Blood. At the camp formed tents of perfectly homogeneous red and gold tissue, where banners fluttered majestically with the sea wind, the spirit you saw in the Roman soldiers was not exactly imposing or brave. They were tired from the long trip. Mentally tired of the long absence of tangible results.
When the last member of the council of war left the tent, everything Reyna wanted was sleep. She was at the forefront of the group that would attack Camp Half-Blood, along with his best demigods. However, each negative result of the scouts on the exact location of the campsite made the Praetor ask herself if the lack of results was not a sign from the gods to desist from that raid driven by revenge. She was ready to sleep when she heard a familiar voice from outside the tent, Samantha, the last of the scouts to return that night. Continuar a ler