<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: bookman old style;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><em>Tracy "Tray" Coppola</em></span><br/>The Tangy Flavor of Blood</span></div><hr/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i52.tinypic.com/2i944f7.jpg)</div>Breakfast didn't last long, but than again, it never did with them.  They liked to eat of course, but in the morning, eating was just a precursor to training, and training was<em>the most</em>important part of the day.<br/><br/>As they stepped out of the dining pavilion, Tracy breathed in deeply, the smells of food wafting from were they just left, and strawberries off in the distance.  The air was cleaner here, clearer, and already the sounds of metal clashing against metal could be heard ringing throughout the camp.<br/><br/>A group of small children ran past them, bows slung over their backs, and obviously heading over to train.  Their levity made Tray's upper lip quirk up in a rather fierce looking cross between a smirk and a grimace.  She was glad that she didn't have to handle young children in her cabin this year, it made her job much easier.<br/><br/>When they ran by, a wind fluttered over the group, and suddenly she felt all her muscles clench tight in readiness.  It was such a small thing, but she could smell it in the air, it left a tangy flavor, the smell of blood.  Jake was the only other one who seemed to notice it, but Lyra was slowly starting to catch on, if the sudden stiffening of her shoulders was any clue.<br/><br/>She didn't expect the others to notice, they've all been confronted with death at some point in their life, and battling, and killing, but it was only with the oldest three, that had been faced with it numerous times, too many times.  And the stink of blood almost always heralded the beginning or the end of battle.<br/><br/>Her eyes zeroed in on the bundled...something being carried past by two Satyrs, and she felt her own blood thrumming underneath her skin.  Dammit all to Hades, she'd caught the end of some kind of skirmish, wasn't that just her luck?  But whatever it was, it had nothing to with her, or at least it didn't have anything to do with her yet; At this camp, you could never be sure.