collide like tectonic plates // FH vs 2 Appa [Day 3]

The winds were a constant roar that whipped the boundaries of her tent, its voice as incessant as the throbbing in her leg. It was fucking irritating. She shifted and twisted in search of the most comfortable sleeping position, hoping that her weight and Claire’s combined would keep the tent anchored to the ground as the gusts tried to sweep it away and cast them aside. It had been a disappointing day to say the least, and she couldn’t catch a blink of sleep due to the howling weather. The anthem had confirmed only two tribute’s deaths – some weirdo kids she didn’t give a rat’s ass about. She hadn’t voiced her concerns aloud earlier, but she had wondered if she should feel guilty for silently wishing that there could’ve been more lives wasted than just two. Why wasn’t anyone else killing each other? She didn’t want to have to do it. It would be easier if they all wiped each other out until only her alliance was left. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Laila scoffed into her arm. What kind of childish wish was that? As if they could simply frolic about the arena without encountering a single tribute. It was only the second night, and there were plenty of souls still wandering. They would be snug in their tents as well, or perhaps exposed to the harsh environment instead. She hoped that it would kill them, as long as the winds here didn’t try to snatch her up with them. I’m tired, a voice in her head reminded her of the heavy weight of her eyelids, but her wound had a voice of its own. It burned when exposed to any amount of friction and tested her patience with every breath she took, destroying her hopes for a blissful slumber. She knew Eye and Willis were in their designated “boys only” tent, and one of them would be awake to guard their beds in the windstorm. She wished she could crawl into the tent and curl up next to them. It would be safer in there. Eye was a career she could trust, and somebody she dared call a friend. Willis had helped mend her injury, so that had earned him brownie points today. She was grateful for the care, even if he was a drunken bastard.

Instead of complying with her own wishes she buried her face into her bony arms and closed her eyes, waiting for her thoughts to disperse. A forced slumber was never a peaceful one – tonight it felt as if she were awake more than asleep, in a dreamless existence with only the howls of the wind to function as a lullaby. It also happened to be an alarm clock as well, for when dawn arrived it wasn’t even her allies’ voices that made her stir. When she groggily stepped out of the tent she was greeted by one of the malformed trees, spine snapped and branches stretched as far as the wind could drag them. She didn’t care what Eye or Willis said – there was no way she was staying here any longer. She was tired of the wind whipping her cheeks like she was some child to be chastised.

Fortunately nobody was eager to remain trapped and abused by the windstorms, so after packing their belongings they set off on a new adventure. Within minutes she realized they were heading in the wrong direction; the mountain was facing their noses, a black tower that cast a vast shadow across the surrounding lands. This area was physically darker than the rest of the arena, and she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. Everything about it spelled trouble, but nobody spoke a word of complaint. Should she keep her lips sealed, then? Would voicing her concerns just be the acts of a whining, paranoid child? I won’t be the weak one. She frowned and swallowed any protests. She needed to be brave, yet she couldn’t ignore the anxiety stirring in her stomach. They were willingly walking into a bad place. A trap, most likely. She wondered if the Gamemakers were smiling at their foolishness or their courage. Is it even considered courageous to do something this stupid?

There were shadows everywhere. The bitter smell of something strange burned her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Puffs of smoke permeated above the mouth of the mountain, hovering like black fog and coating the sky in darkness as if the mountain’s purpose was to shade them from the sun and smother all hope of light. Laila wrapped her arms around herself, katana unsheathed and painted with dry, cracking blood, as if she could possibly appear threatening with her eyes frantic and her breaths heavy. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light (or the dark, she should say), but she could’ve sworn that her panicked gaze had spotted a shadow moving in mid-air. When her eyes took to the polluted skies, she spotted a speck. No, two specks. Wait just a damn second –

”Guys!” she shrieked in a haste, both hands fumbling to grasp the hilt of her sword. Those were not specks, those were two giant mutts soaring straight at them. Their silhouettes expanded and expanded (and she quickly tossed down her backpack to sift through its contents and withdraw the jar of tar and the flint that Eye had described how to use in a situation of desperation) and she felt her heart shrivel. Fuck, she didn’t want to do this. Fuck, they were huge. Ripred, help me. Her silver was slick with tar, now, a black to match the skies. She used the flint the way her friends had taught her to and struck a flame. Smoke hissed from the orange that danced across her blade, but for once she did not feel nauseous. She felt power.

Maybe she could feel courageous after all. Or maybe I’m just stupid. Either way, when the unmistakable giants swooped down from the shadows, she didn’t hesitate to unleash her war cry and lash out with her flames as hard as she possibly could.

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The bison was considerably agile for something so hefty. Her katana sailed past the creature’s bleeding hide and licked nothing but air as it dove out of her line of fire. It must’ve been intelligent if it knew how to evade her attacks – or at least she hoped it was, because if it was capable of possessing thought she wanted it to realize how screwed over it was once she shoved a sword through its face. She also wanted it to suffer regret; she wanted it to wish it had never crossed paths with Laila fucking Sycamore, the thirteen-year-old not to be trifled with. I want it to be scared of me. She knew she was short and petite, like a walking stick figure. She knew she wasn’t intimidating, but none of that eliminated her from posing as a threat. She had severed somebody’s fucking head yesterday. That had to count for something, right?

The echo of a second crack almost made her flinch – another broken bone? When she twirled on her heels she found that Willis was the victim this time. Something about his leg was off, maybe crooked, she wasn’t sure. There was too much happening to focus on one limb, but his cries were warning enough. She didn’t want to hear her allies scream anymore, and she didn’t want to hear herself either, yet the carving across her abdomen would not stand for silence. She whimpered with every movement, the gash like a burning, gaping hole spitting blood into the dirt. It still hurt like hell. It burned like hell. It squeezed sweat out of her pores and emptied her tear ducts, trying to drench her in whatever it could. Meanwhile these bastards were currently getting away with tearing her open like that. Not on my watch.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, smearing the blood and salt across flushed skin. The volcano’s inescapable shadow consumed them all, but even in the apparent comforts of the shade the heat was still present and sizzling them to the bone. The air was thick and acrid and disgusting, clogging her windpipe with pollution and poison. In certain areas she could see orange pools of liquid fire – she forgot the word for what that stuff was called, but she knew it was hot to the touch. She knew it could disintegrate bone if anybody dared dip their hands into it. It would be nice if she could just shove one of the stupid bisons into it. That would solve all of their problems – but Laila was not nearly as strong as she wished she could be. Her rage was more powerful than her muscles, her emotions able to strike fear while her twig of a body failed to intimidate anything. Sure, being a child might prompt others to pity her and show mercy. It might even spare her life in the future. But would any of that matter if she let herself get killed by some stupid bisons? This was pathetic. They were far from being any sort of infamous career alliance, but they should be able to kill some bison, wounded or not. Broken or not.

She waited for the perfect opportunity. The bison she wanted to butcher with a vengeance tried to lash out at Eye, and she felt her heart spasm in fear as its talons narrowly missed its target. Now it was nice and close to her, and she could hopefully sneak up on it without straining herself too much. She had no idea how much blood she was losing from this gash. Don’t think about it. Just fight.

”Hey, ugly!”

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