𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ❪ clove kentwell ❫

𝒗𝒊𝒊𝒊. the bloodbath

But I can't seem to move. My mind is whirling through countless scenarios while my limbs refuse to unstick from the tree.

And then I hear voices below me. "You're sure he's dead?" Marvel.

"Yes, I'm sure. Such an idiot." Cato's voice, deep and confident. "Any of you see Fire Girl?"

Fire Girl? He must be talking about Katniss Everdeen. I try to hide within the thick leaves of the tree, cursing my tallness. The leaves rustle, and I freeze.

Luckily, the Careers don't seem to notice. Clove speaks next, and I can almost hear the whizzing sound of her knife as it spins around her fingers. "Dead. The boy from Nine."

"What?" Cato stops short, causing a rustle of the undergrowth. "Are you sure?"

Clove scoffs, sounding bored. "I'm sure. I killed Nine, but he strangled her first."

I hear Cato's scowl twisting his speech. "I wanted to kill that bitch."

"We know, you haven't been able to shut up about it since you saw her stupid fire costume." They keep walking, voices fading. I strain my ears; they could give me something useful.

A laugh. Glimmer. "Oh, like you haven't been able to shut up about Three?"

"Shut it, One." I can barely make out Clove's next words. "No one interferes with my kill, okay?"

Well. That settles it. Clove really does want to kill me. I shiver, even though it's warm out, and wait another few minutes to make sure they're gone before awkwardly descending the tree and carefully walking out as far as I can, jumping at every little noise.

After around half an hour of walking, I deem it safe to sit and check the contents of my backpack. It's a dark blue in color, which stands out against the greens and browns of the forest, but I'm glad it's a more muted shade. I'll have to camouflage it, maybe some dirt? Mud? What would work?

Focus. Inside the pack is a baggie of crackers and cheese, a few spools of rope, some little metal triggers, and an empty water bottle. A small bottle of something... Iodine? Something for purifying water, I think.

I ignore the meager pickings of food and finger the tools eagerly. Perfect for setting snares. Then I notice something else hidden behind the cheese. A thin metal wire, curled tightly around a tiny spool.

A grin spreads across my face. Something I can use.

I look around to get a better sense of my surroundings. It seems like the typical forest, not that I know much about forests or nature in general. I see a few pine trees, and some that are probably oak. Or acacia? No, acacia trees are more reddish. They're likely oak. Does it matter if I know what kinds of trees they are?

Why did I have to come from the technology district? Some kids joke that I should've been from Seven, the lumber district, with my name. Ivy Rosewood. That sure would help me more now.

I check the position of the sun. Noon. One o'clock, maybe. My first goal should be to find some water, then food.

A pang of anxiety strikes me. Is the lake at the Cornucopia the only source of water in the arena? It would be good for driving tributes together... Then I remember the few birds I've seen around me. Animals need to drink too.

I walk for a while, away from the Cornucopia. Curiosity distracts from the growing gnaw of hunger in my stomach. How big is this arena? Where does it end? It can't be that large, or else the tributes would be too widely spread out. Is there a wall of some kind? A force field?

When the sun begins to set and my hunger starts getting less bearable, I stop. My feet hurt, despite the high-quality boots. I've eaten a total of two crackers, a little hard to choke down after a week of the richest food in the world, but I'll get used to it. I hope. My throat feels completely parched, and I haven't seen a single stream or pond around here.

Might as well set up camp.

I hesitate, at an odds. I don't have a tent or a sleeping bag. I could tie myself to a tree branch, but I don't feel comfortable at all up there. Camouflage and sleeping on the ground is probably my best bet.

I gather a heap of fallen leaves and pile them at the foot of a tree, throwing on the hood of my jacket and using the backpack as a pillow. I make sure the straps are still secured to my arms, in case I have to make a quick escape. It's not exactly comfortable, but it'll do.

I pile the rest of the leaves over me and close my eyes, feeling the cold seep into my bones. I shiver again, but not from the cold; from thinking of the Career pack, roaming the woods, hunting us down.

The anthem plays across the arena, and I cautiously shift a single leaf above me for one of my eyes to peek out, seeing the national seal projected across the sky. Once the anthem is finished, the faces start appearing, like when they revealed our tribute scores. Just a face and a district number. Back home, they'll be seeing detailed coverage of each kid's death, but here we just see the faces. I'm not sure why. Probably something about unfair advantages.

The first in the sky is Perch, the little boy from Four. My heart clenches as his youthful face flashes once and fades forever. Next appears the boy from 5. Then all the Careers plus the clever-looking girl from 5 made it. I wasn't listening when they fired the cannons after the bloodbath was over, so I don't know how many dead there are. Stupid.

I scowl at myself, then continue to watch the sky. Both from 6 and 7, the boy from 8, both from 9, the girl from 10, and the girl from 12. Katniss, the girl on fire. Such a quick end. I guess Peeta made it. His feelings seem... seemed genuine, and I feel sorry for him.

Shifting back the leaves to cover me fully, I try to sleep. Eleven dead, thirteen left. Almost half of us gone in one day. No use thinking about this now. Focus. Don't panic.

My eyes snap open as I remember—I should set some snares. Maybe a stray rabbit will get caught overnight and I'll... I'll...

Shame splashes over me, and I'm glad for the covering on me so I can quietly panic in peace without having to worry about the cameras. I doubt I'll be able to kill something. Even an animal. I'd have to skin it, and there'd be a big mess with the guts and meat and...

There must be a stream somewhere near here. Fish. And sponsors! Though I don't think I made much of an impact during my week in the Capitol. Sponsors probably won't come easy.

There's a brief warmth cocooning my body as my brain works furiously and I don't think of the cold, and then defeat sinks over me and the chill is back. I stuff my hands deep into my sleeves and wrap my arms around myself, shivering uncontrollably. Tough it out.

And that's where I stay until morning, frozen in a half-conscious state of sleep, when I open my eyes to the light rays of dawn penetrating my shell of leaves and can't even move when I hear the footsteps, several sets of feet, come crashing by.