Bullets Flying Through the Air // {The Bros}

for what it's worth, I always aim to please
but I nearly died

It had sort of, kind of, almost been his idea to leave the Cornucopia, and so he almost, kind of, sort of regretted it. The thing was, all this thinking, and worrying, and guilt, and regret – it was becoming tiresome. He could feel it eating away at his insides, gnawing on parts he probably needed. At least for now. Mace had never done well with guilt; mostly he just put things out of his head and spent a few more nights than strictly necessary ranching. But he couldn’t do that now, because he was pretty sure no cows would survive in this place.

And even if they could, he wasn’t sure he wanted to meet any cows in the arena. Nothing good could come out of the Capitol, or the frozen wasteland. No, if he had things his way, his wish that he had declared in his interview would come true – he would be totally alone. It wasn’t a way to die, but it would have been a good way to spend his few remaining days. As it were, though, he couldn’t quite justify trekking out alone, especially since the other boys had some vital supplies and knowledge. Besides which, the more time he had to think, the more he found it easy to draw comparisons between them and his brothers.

The way Aesop and Icarus got this far away look, like the world was too much, or they had discovered some secret never to be repeated. The way Elon and Alexander seemed to mirror each other’s movements, who were nearly the same height and build. The way Cygnus and Denver talked a little too much but stepped up the plate when it was clear no one else wanted to. Yes, these were his brothers, and he would walk the frozen earth with them for as long as he could.

Mace didn’t make conversation along the way, once their trajectory had been decided. He just focused on moving forward, kicking his feet out in front of him until Denver told him to wriggle his toes to keep the blood moving. It helped, but it didn’t make him any less cold. Eventually, after walking for some time, he found a rhythm. He was numb, true, but it wasn’t quite so unbearable as it had been. It felt good to be on his feet, ranging over the ground. It felt a little like home, except that home was brown, dirty and warm.

The flat tundra gave way to a frozen jungle in what seemed like a blink of an eye. One moment he was fighting snow drifts, and the next he was dodging an icy trunk. He glared upward, hoped that a camera broadcast his displeasure. But a forest he could handle; at least there would be trees to grab onto when the mirror ice ground took his legs out from underneath. He was beginning to hate that more than anything else. The cold, now that he was moving and he'd gotten used to the constriction, wasn't all that bad. He could manage it, at least. But the unpredictable falls - they made him look foolish and vulnerable. Besides which, he didn't really like the ache in his hips and back from his earlier spills.

The day was draining away quickly. He'd camped plenty of times before, and the wave of confidence in his own know-how struck him almost physically. Building a fire, finding low ground to sleep on, gathering things from the earth - he was good at shit like that. He looked over his shoulder to be sure that their alliance was still in the same general vicinity, and then slowed his pace. It didn't take him much longer to locate a spot he thought would be suitable, in a small grove of trees. They would provide some protection from the night, and from whatever else the cold weather would bring. Mace looked up through the bare branches, gauged the light, and decided it could be trick. "Think it's too late to build a fire?