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- Grover was more courteous. He climbed down the wall and dropped to the floor with goat-worthy dexterity. He smelled like a burnt wool blanket. His face was badly sunburned. His cap had fallen into the fire, revealing the tips of his horns, which steamed like miniature volcanoes. Meg had somehow come through just fine. She’d even managed to retract her sword from the wall before falling. She pulled her canteen from her supply belt, drank most of the water, and handed the rest to Grover.
- “Thanks,” I grumbled.
- ***
- The Burning Maze, Chapter 39
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