<strong>Terry Holt</strong><br/><br/>Clad in slacks and a nice grey polo, Terry wandered down the path along with all the others, carrying an oversized gym bag (which hid his weapon of choice, called Cloudbreaker) and wearing a long knife at his belt.<br/><br/>Most cabin leaders had to yell to collect their charges.  From a certain point of view, that made him lucky: he didn't have to bother because there weren't any.  The king of Olympus might well have had other kids out there, but Terry was confident he'd have heard if any had actually been claimed.  Living alone in Cabin One was a bit awkward; dining alone at the corresponding table was considerably more so, but he'd gotten used to it over the years and he had to admit, he liked his privacy sometimes.<br/><br/>He loaded his plate high at dinner, partly because he was a big eater, and partly because he was always careful to be generous with the customary offering.  Terry wasn't the camp's greatest student of mythic history, but he knew enough to know that being stingy with his father was monumentally foolish.  "Smile upon our deeds, my lord father," he murmured in Greek, before taking his lonely place at Zeus's table.  Terry nodded to Zachary, two tables away; they'd been in the same predicament for years, and it made Terry feel slightly less idiotic about sitting alone to know that his cousin was just as stuck.