» draconis occidentalis | windy

I can feel myself frozen down to the very core of my being, but I still feel my face flash with a shock of blood as he steps closer. Everything in me is ice, but the rush of embarrassment and anxiety sends my pulse skittering off on a merry bounce through my veins. I flex my toes in my boots slowly, feeling the barely-there press of soaking digits to thin canvas and rubber. My hands are tense in the snow beside me, staining the white sheet a dark, sticky red and streaking through the intricate pathways of flakes. I take a moment to look down at the tainted snow beside me, frowning at the imperfect marring such a pure thing. Quickly, I lift my hands out of the snow and let them drop into my lap.

He’s a curious thing before me. There’s something so foreign about the innocence in his eyes and the childlike play on his lips. I haven’t seen something so pure in so long, not even in the natural flow of the orchard grounds around me as they grow with each and every day. Not a thing can compare to in beauty and simplicity to innocence most profound of heart. He swivels his head around to look up at the sky, at the looming puffy clouds and the warm air that is puffed from his lungs. His focus returns to me in an instant, his imagination dancing from his tongue in exquisite syllables. Oh, what a little joy it is to hear happiness sounded in adventure. “A dragon? Every princess has one, so where’s yours? Wait, no, that doesn’t matter. We need to find that nymph.”

In an instant, he’s standing in front of me. His weight is centered on his front foot and there’s a hand extended into my personal space. A princess? I’m anything but a woman of royalty. The absurdity of the notion is astounding. How could he possibly think me a princess? I’m practically broken in half with the weight of my working burdens and the pressures of the Capitol. There’s not been a day in my life where I’ve had the luxury to sleep in or dine upon some reasonable food. I’ve lived in squalor and adversity for all the years I’ve functioned and this functioning only served to make my life harder. I have to live up to the expectations of those around me, pull my weight despite how many times I crack open the skin of my hands, move faster and faster despite the bruising down to the bone, do everything better to avoid a whip. There is nothing in me that could be deemed princess-like. I’m a peasant, nothing more.

I give a moment to stare at him, disbelief coloring my features as I reach up to straighten my hat. Instead, my hand is snagged by his own and I’m pulled to my feet. A tremor rolls up my arm at the sudden shock of warmth against my fingertips, my skin practically rolling in the sensation for all of a second before the grip tightens and I’m sent careening forward. A startled laugh bursts from my lungs and I find myself shocked by the weightlessness of it. There’s a sudden levity in my step despite all of the unchecked trees I pass. Limbs are bowed under the weight of snow and creak with every gust of wind, but I cannot slow down, not with this boy pulling me faster and faster through the rows of the orchard. My eyes dart around me until they settle on the boy dragging me forward, air rising in plumes of white from his lungs. Not unlike a dragon himself; imposing, fast, warm.

My skin flushes just slightly at the thought, fingers twitching in his hold as we slow to a brisk walk. The trees are thinner here. I hardly know this patch of land. I’ve worked the older trees for years now, taken to climbing them like a child to crawling. There’s a comfort in all that is old there; the rough bark, the rich fruit, the towering branches. There’s a peace in knowing where you stand in the world, what your place is, just how little you are. The orchard would survive without me. The Capitol would survive without me. There’s not a thing I can do to change my circumstances, so I’ll sit within the branches of the old trees and try not to imagine what life is like down below. Surely there are those who have it worse than me. Here, though, these trees are not large enough to climb. I could easily snap their branches with a shift of my hands upon the smooth bark. No fruit will come of these yet, not until they have grown enough to hold it. There’s new life here, something pure and untainted, but already the marks of age are getting ready to show. Stakes hold them in place and ties move branches into the desired locations. They are already being trained to be old and unable to choose.

“Nymphs like to hide in trees and there’s plenty here so we’ll need to look everywhere." I hear the words as I drift back into myself, realizing how far we’ve walked. We’re almost at the boundaries of the orchard, of the district. I take in a quiet breath, eyes darting about and settling upon the tall, wild trees just beyond the fencing. There’s no buzz of electricity. There never is. Few are stupid enough to venture outside of the safety of the district. It’s a wonder, though, that this is considered safe at all. Here, I’ve lost my voice and everything about me. What safety this is in a land where starvation is normal and pain commonplace.

My footsteps slow along with his until we come to a stop. He’s turning this way and that, desperately searching for some sign, but a sign of what? A nymph? I’ve grown too old to believe in fairytales any longer, not when all they do is build up your hopes for something that will never be real. Never will I be a princess, not like this boy imagines it. “I’ll find your voice. I promise. Nymphs can’t hide forever and they like to trick people with the voice they’ve stolen. You haven’t seen a nymph running around, have you? Or heard yourself from afar, if that makes any sense?” He still believes. I can see it in his eyes when he turns to look at me. There’s a glow to him that I’ve never been given the privilege of having. I never had the time to believe something so magical could happen to me as a nymph stealing my voice or a prince come to rescue me from a dragon. I’ve been too old since the day I was born. Still, I cannot break that light in him. There’s something so unimaginably warm emanating from him that I can’t bear to see it go out, so I answer his questions with a shake of my head.

He tugs me forward by my hand once more, our pace slowed to a wet trod through the snow. We’re matched now, walking side by side instead of me trailing after him in a blur. Every step closer to the fence, however, I can feel myself drawing away. This is too far. Only feet from the fence, I pull back, curling my fingers tightly around his and steadying us both. My breath comes out in small panicked bursts for a moment as I shake my head frantically, looking at the dark trees that loom just beyond. I yank at his hand again, trying to draw him away, but he doesn’t budge. Again, I shake my head and try with every ounce of my being to tell him not to go out there. There’s nothing good out there to be found.