“Grover cradeled his laurel sapling in his hands. "Well . . . sure is good to be back together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look It's our floor”

“Well . . . sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look. It's our floor.”

“Grover was sniffing the wind, looking nervous. He fished out his acorns and threw them into the sand, then played his pipes. They rearranged themselves in a pattern that made no sense to me, but Grover looked concerned. "That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested. "Oh, shut up.”

“Safety from what? Who's after me?"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions.”

“When I got across, I looked back and saw Tyson giving Grover a piggyback ride (or was it a goatyback ride?).”

“But... you're still getting married?" Grover sounded hurt. "Who's the bride?" Ploypemus looked toward the boiling pot. Clarisse made a strangled sound. "Oh, no! You can't be serious. I'm not-”

“Poison!" Grover yelped. "Don't let those things touch you or...""Or we'll die?" I guessed."Well...after you shrivel slowly to dust, yes.""Let's avoid the swords," I decided.”