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.
Rick Riordan