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POEM vi.
/ICARUS' POV/
Icarus didn't know why the Hermes cabin hadn't stepped forward and volunteered to make Percy's laurel. Sure, typically cabin mates would do it for the absent heroes, but there was no one else but Percy who was claimed by Poseidon. He had no one but himself, save for the unclaimed and Hermes kids he used to bunk with. Weren't they his first family at camp? How could they not honor him?
So, Icarus took initiative instead. He sat at the bank of his favorite stretch of beach, hidden from the rest of the world. A naiad had perched her upper body on the rock by his side, her waist and down still basking in the lake.
It was night. Icarus adored the solitude and silence that came with night. With all else asleep, he could hear how the world came alive. The cicadas were white noise in the background, comforting the young boy as he worked contently.
"You're working so tirelessly, Icarus." the naiad spoke softly, a smile in her words.
The young boy simply rolled his eyes as he continued braiding the flowers of Percy's laurel together, ignoring her remarks.
Annabeth always said they were terrible flirts, and she was right. Still, Icarus enjoyed their presence much more than he did the other campers even with their playful words. They braided his hair and told him stories, and that was enough for him to be content. Besides, they were overall very calm and gentle with Icarus.
