Hold With Those Who Favor Fire {Exover

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

The middle of the summer was undoubtedly brutal all over Panem, but it punished those in Ten and Eleven the most. Those that made their days and work out of the earth, whose skin turned bronze to red in the cruel hands of the sun. They had always been shaped by it, by the seasons for breeding, planting, harvesting, birthing, and the long winters in between. But neither spring nor autumn nor winter felt so entirely spiteful. How could it be so heartless when those in the upper districts spent so much more time in its presence?

But life was hardly fair, especially when it came to celestial bodies.

Mace cursed the sun, and the endless heat, and the moisture, and the cows for good measure, even though he loved them. There was nothing beyond the scope of his misery, not when the world burned so hot it turned to waves. The earth beneath the cow's hooves undulated as Mace bent at the waist, keeping his head and neck in the shade of the beast's cylindrical bodies. He tapped the prod on their rears without any force or expectation of movement. For today the herd would stay right where it was, chewing on the last bits of dried weeds, suckling at the earth to draw up any forgotten water.

"Don't forget to share," Mace grunted, leaned into the old girl's side. She whoofed deep in her throat, far too lazy to actually produce a 'moo' but annoyed nevertheless. "Yer right," he conceded, giving her a firm pat before peeling away from the herd. Mace hooked the prod on the wooden fence, hauled himself over it, and began the long walk back to the farmhouse.

Except that he never ended up there. There was only one place to go in District Ten when the heat became too punishing. His feet led him there as his mind emptied of all thoughts, even the simplest ones like move the herd. It became another blank space in his body, an organ he might have confused with his stomach or kidney. Mace simply walked, cut a man-sized hole through the later afternoon wall of humidity. Those trusty feet, calloused and roughened against his too-small shoes, carried him towards the district's center. He became aware after several miles that he was not alone, and the day was dying fast.

Near the edge of town there had once been a fountain, a natural pool that some past mayor had built into an architectural wonder. But like all things in Ten, it turned to dust and rot, coated in the byproduct of the animals they raised and slaughtered. Soon it was no more than a marsh of mud in the summer and a dangerous partially iced over pond in the winter. But today nothing sounded better than cool mud, especially some unadulterated by pigs. A ring of people formed along the edge, parents watching children, and herders, like Mace, wading into the stuff up to their hips.

To the south side, the mouth of the spring bubbled, clear water rising a few inches into the sunlight before splashing onto the earth, churning the mud. A queue had formed behind it, women and men with jugs and sacks and buckets, anything that might hold its cool respite for awhile. Mace had nothing except his own two hands. But how long would it take to swish out his parched mouth, take a little for his own? It seemed stupid to waste even more time - because he was sure to be missed at home already - by waiting in the line.

So Mace dragged himself to the fellow directly in front of the spout, managed to pull his lips apart to reveal his teeth. It was not a smile, and it was not a grimace. "Just need a quick drink." he said, dead eyes sizing up the man.