“You’re a son of Poseidon, aren’t you?” she asked. “You are a Greek demigod.” Percy gripped his leather necklace. “I started to remember in Portland, after the gorgon’s blood. It’s been coming back to me slowly since then. There’s another camp—Camp Half-Blood.”
Just saying the name made Percy feel warm inside. Good memories washed over him: the smell of strawberry fields in the warm summer sun, fireworks lighting up the beach on the Fourth of July, satyrs playing panpipes at the nightly campfire, and a kiss at the bottom of the canoe lake.

The Son of Neptune, Chapter XXXVII