Untrodden (Daniella Lamonde by herself....again)

ooc: thought I'd shake things up.

It's hard to tell the time of day because the sky is so cloudy, but based on how long I've been walking I would guess it's about noon. My feet are aching beneath me, a grumbling complaint in my shoes. My backpack bounces lightly against my lower back as I move. I wonder if I will have a bruise. My hair is pulled up higher than it was yesterday, because despite the lack of sunshine the arena is still boiling hot. My pants are rolled up as high as the cuffs will allow and my sweater is shoved messily into my bag. A single sweat bead runs down my face and off the end of my nose, landing somewhere in front of my shoe.

I glance around myself, getting progressively nervous as the gaping holes in the earth become closer and closer together. I taek the risk of peeking into one and my stomach gives an uneasy heave. It's pitch black in the cavernous hole and when my foot dislodges a rock it echoes down for miles. Just thinking about the drop gets my heart beating faster.

"I'm doing this for you Nick. You better be glad when I get home." I say to the air with a tired chuckles. I wring my hands together lightly, twitching the corner of my mouth as my joints give a satisfying crack. I shoot a look to my left, gauging my distance from the huge hole on my left when it happens.

The ground beneath me gives and uneven roar and begins to crumble. First slowly, like sand through the eye of a needle but picking up speed. Before I can truly process what is happening the ground beneath my feet is collapsing. The scream that tears itself from my mouth is neither human nor conscious, it's like a reflex, a reaction from my soul. I try to leap for the edge, but it's too far and I am too late. My skin feels a hundred degrees cooler instantly as the air rushes past me, bringing stinging tears to my eyes. I shoot downwards into the darkness, ten, fifteen maybe twenty feet and then come to a jarring halt.

Pain sprouts from the skin under my arms. My backpack caught on something, and the straps managed to hold up under the duress of my weight. (ooc: is that the correct usage of duress?I don't know, lemme know.) All the air has rushed out of my body from the fall and I take a shaking breath, coughing as the air hits my ravaged lungs. Every inch of me feels like it's been stabbed, even my teeth and I can't stop my hands from shaking.

Somehow, I manage to turn myself around slightly, and grip tightly onto the jagged rock wall of the hole. The stone cuts slightly into my skin, but I cling to it with all my might. Slowly, and more careful than I have ever been in my life, I begin to climb up the tunnels face. I can hardly see the rocks, but with the adrenaline pumping so loudly through my body I am moving soley on impulse, reaching out into the darkness for a handhold that I can practically sense. It's painful and painfully slow, but little by little I manage to worm my way to the surface. My backpack is still on my back, thankfully and I don't think it tore open.

When I finally reach the top, my fingers curl over onto the grass I had been standing on not long ago. I pull up untill my arms up to my elbows are fully on the ground and then I swing my legs up and launch myself back onto solid earth. As soon as I am in no more danger of falling into the pit, I roll away, uneven and clunky. I lie on my stomach, with my face pressed against the earth and sob into the patchy grass. Tears pour down my face from fear and relief, and my body is shaking so violently I can't even roll of my face. Sobs stab at my chest and I am covered in sand and cave-grime.

"I don't want to do this anymore." I moan, the words nearly unintelligible. My heart is throbbing, and not just because of my fall. These games just hurt too much, they have to end soon. No more, please no more.

ooc: Oh man this took a long time to figure out. Newfound respect for Dee or anybody who does crazy colour stuff.

Hold Me
Like The River Jordan
And I Will Then Say To Thee
You Are My Friend

It takes me about fifteen minutes to actually get to my feet, I am still vibrating subtly and every time I think about the yawning earth behind me my entire world seems to pitch and wobble beneath me. I secure my pack over my shoulders and pick up my mace again. Luckily, when I fell, it tumbled out of my hands and lodged just below the edge of the hole. I wonder briefly how long I would have lasted in the games if I had lost my only weapon. Not long. I shake of the thought and move forward.

Once my feet are moving it's like a perpetual motion machine. I no longer control it, I am simply being taken along for the ride. My pace is constant, not even the bumpy terrain taking effect on my stride. I try to keep alert to my surroundings other than the ground, but frankly it's hard.

As time passes it becomes clear to me that whatever was lining the hole was not particularly friendly. I develop a hacking cough and the few times I manage to lift my sleeve to my mouth it comes away dusted in black. The sunscreen paste seems to be congealing on my arms, and in the places where it's slightly more concentrated my arms are starting to break out in hives. In addition to my scabs from yesterday's acid rain. I'm certainly not the beautiful one anymore.

As I walk I let my mind wander. I manage to think of things outside of the arena, something which I am grateful for. At this point it is probably the only thing keeping me sane. I touch my neck and feel Evan's cross, a memory tickling at my brain.

I'm young. Seven maybe. My father is sitting in the main room, reading a thick bound book intensely. He glances up at my approach and smiles. I clamber up onto his lap, touching the worn pages of the book with my small palm.

"What is this?" I ask him, turning to stare up into his bespectacled face. My father smiles again, wrapping one arm tighter around me.

"This is a book that used to be very important." He tells me, his voice softer than usual. I nod slowly and lower my tone to his level, asking the most common seven-year-old question.

"Why?" This question seems to bother my father. He pauses and sighs, looking at the words on the page for an answer.

"Because, when people are scared or sad, they need something to give them hope. Something that will always give them hope. And this is what that book did for people."