“Tyson,” I stammered. “You’re a…” “Cyclops,” Annabeth offered. “A baby, by the looks of him. Probably why he couldn’t get past the boundary line as easily as the bulls. Tyson’s one of the homeless orphans.” “One of the what?” “They’re in almost all the big cities,” Annabeth said distastefully. “They’re…mistakes, Percy. Children of nature spirits and gods…Well, one god in particular, usually…and they don’t always come out right. No one wants them. They get tossed aside. They grow up wild on the streets. I don’t know how this one found you, but he obviously likes you. We should take him to
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