Jewel watches queasily as Boo drags the bodies into the grass. Savannah, stood tall at her shoulder, sword loose in her hand, shivers. "About time," she mutters, "Their families will want to say goodbye."
Out of habit, Jewel shoots her a sharp look. That won't do any good, thinking about people's families. Talk about losing focus. Her trained eyes spot that the girl from Two, although she's stood tall, is hunched, her shoulders curled around her, and there's a slight ridge in her forehead. There are a few spots of dried blood on her hollow cheeks.
"You don't know what you're doing here, do you?" Jewel asks crisply. Boo ambles back into the small clearing, rubbing his hands on his shirt. He doesn't even look ruffled, despite the days in the arena. Savannah is glad to turn away from him and blink at Jewel. The girl from District One is leaning on her spear, her mouth pressed tightly together and looking out into the distance through impressively blue eyes. Her hair is coiled in a complicated plait down her back, but strands are starting to escape, clinging to her neck. She looks solid, determined. Just stood next to her, Savannah feels small. Even though she's actually taller than her. She knows straight away; Jewel will see through any kind of lies, any attempt to bluff it. At the same time, to tell her the correct answer would be admitting a weakness. And her father always said to never even hint at a weakness. Usually he accompanied this with a glare at her mother.
"Not really, no." She turns away sharply, well aware that this isn't the answer her district want her to give. She must be a disappointment to them. For her volunteering, her calmness, they must have expected more. And instead they got Jax killed, somehow, and her sitting around doing nothing apart from feeling slightly sick.
"Not how you thought it was going to be?" Jewel's voice is dismissive; she's meant to be a Career, for crying out loud. She's trained. Though at least Savannah is keeping herself together, which is more than could be said for Trey...
As this crosses her mind, she sees her district partner, Trey, the boy who had a sword fight with breadsticks, hauled off into the air. Is he going home? Or will the Capitol fix him up first? And what happens to the bodies of the losers, anyway?
No. She shakes her head to clear these thoughts, feeling her plait hammer on her back. She needs to keep focused. This is why she's spent hours, longer than anybody, in the spacious training centre. She can't start doubting herself just because of Trey and some confused and undertrained girl from Two. She won't be a loser. It doesn't matter what happens to them.
Savannah has said something; what? She looks out in the other direction now, gripping the sword so hard that her knuckles are blazing white.
"What was that?" Jewel asks. Savannah shakes her head. She knows Jewel won't kill her, not yet, anyway. But she doesn't like it here. She feels like Jewel thinks she's weak and pathetic, and she's worried because...because she might be right.
There's a slight buzz as Avery is lifted away. Then attention is uncomfortably back on Savannah again.
"Shovel girl," she mutters, "How is she staying up there?"
Ever is curled up, asleep, in the fork of the tree, the shovel tucked into her side. She's only ever still when she's sleeping, her mouth tightly closed, her shoulders rising and falling with her steady breathing. It's nice here. Comfortable. The tree cradles her like she is its child, hugging her close. It knows she won't hurt it, and because of that, it won't let her fall. Shapes, a kaleidoscope of colours, dance behind her eyelids. Ever doesn't dream of the Games. Ever doesn't really dream of anything. Just colours and sounds.
She smiles at a particularly pretty pattern. The camera, satisfied that it will squeeze nothing from the bizarre young tribute, roves on, looking for some dialogue at least. Give the people something to wake up to.
"She's got no food. She'll have to come down soon," Jewel reassures Savannah. Though it isn't reassuring and she tries to ignore it, taking a sip from one of their water bottles, snatched from the Cornucopia and stored in a leather bag thing. Boo blinks up and snorts from where he's perched on the floor. Does he drink, eat, sleep? It doesn't look like it. Jewel can't even remember if she's ever seen him do anything apart from sit and occasionally talk, not even if he's ever even peeled away to excuse himself. His skin is pale in the late night early morning light, the silver draining the blonde from his hair.
"A person can survive for two weeks without food," he drawls matter-of-factly, "I doubt the Gamemakers will wait that long."
This is the longest that either of the girls have heard him speak, and Jewel marvels at his composure. His voice is almost entirely monotone. Yet at the same time, it's creepy. She's starting to wonder; is he hiding something? It's impossible to tell. There's something blank in his expression, something missing, that startles even the trained Career. At the same time, he's thin as a rake and though she's seen him be effective with his fists, at the expense of the instructor, she doubts that he could cope with any kind of weapon. But either way, he's dangerous or useless. He needs to go.
Preferably permanently.
Rafe hauls himself to his feet. His stomach is empty and his limbs feel like tree trunks, his head heavy and his heart sad. The axe winks accusingly at him. If he'd have been quicker, if he'd have been concentrating, he could have saved her.
For what? So she could die later? He'd never once thought of Flora as competition. Well, he's never thought of any of the others as competition, but especially not her. She couldn't have hurt a fly. And now she doesn't have to hurt anybody. Nobody has to hurt her.
Morning streaks across the sky, threads of purple and orange. Pretty. Arianna would laugh and pull him close, and he'd try and keep his hands in the right places. Not that she'd have cared anyway. Is the same sun rising on Arianna? Is it even sunrise back home?
Day...something. He counts on his fingers, tongue sticking out of his mouth with the effort. Day One, bloodbath, Elektra the girl in love. Day Two, the boy from Two beamed out of the sky. And Flora. Day Three, the stroppy cow from Four and the boy from One, and someone else he can't remember. And today is Day Four?
He doesn't care. He just wanted something to think about. Time is playing tricks on him, seeming to go slowly, achingly, until he stops to think about it. Then it seems to have been speeded up. Four days is not long at all but it feels like eons. He can barely remember the trees of home. Just Arianna's warmth, her plump smile. And Forest purring on her lap in the evenings.
He had a cat at home once, back with his family. It was a stray, practically wild. It spent one night curled up at the end of Rafe's bed, then scratched him and ran off and he wasn't a cat person after that. His mother had bathed the scratch, cooing under her breath. Her soft maternal smell hits him suddenly, a memory of faint lavander and pillowy dough.
And he thinks: I never said goodbye to my parents. They didn't turn up to the Justice Building. Have I disappointed them that much?
He whispers out loud to himself, "It doesn't matter now." If he lives, he can apologise. If he doesn't...someone will look after Arianna. There will be a crowd of boys wanting to comfort a girl like her. Even if she is pregnant. Please don't let her lose the baby. She deserves to be a mother. And the little blob of life he's somehow helped to create deserves a chance, a mother.
He's actually created life. A little wonder. Half of the time he forgets how to tie his shoelaces and yet he's made a human being. It makes him dizzy.
He lopes on aimlessly. He hasn't been able to shave and tufts of fluff have emerged on his chin; he strokes them curiously. They tickle his fingers. Despite himself, he giggles. Where is he? He could have been nearly going around in circles?
His stomach grumbles, angry at being ignored, as he bounces up, peering over the top of the sea of grass. He sees nothing apart from some tree not far away, and even that isn't around for long because gravity pulls him straight back down. It might be a good place to go to.
First, his bladder is demanding attention. Still wincing at the idea of the Capitol watching, he relieves himself quickly, almost chopping his own toes off in his haste to drop the axe.
It doesn't help. He still feels full of butterflies, though half of them are sleeping right now. It's like they work in shifts to keep him constantly jittery deep down. Even jogging in the general direction of the tree doesn't help. Why is he even going there? He doesn't really know; it's a tree, trees are like home, it feels like safety.
He brushes a hand over his hair and realizes then that he's still damp and slightly crusty with Flora's blood. He thought he'd washed it off! Or maybe he'd meant to and forgot. He reels backwards at this horrific discovery, but he's away from the stream now. He can't even hear it in the distance.
Suddenly disgusted at himself, he swings at the grass in front of him, to chop it down rather than push it aside. But grass isn't as solid, as stubborn as a tree, and it yields by bending aside rather than splitting, and Rafe stops suddenly, his Seven-tone skin draining of all colour.
Someone is in front of him. And they look ready for a fight.