it's a battle cry | {i&m}
Mar 10, 2015 16:20:31 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan on Mar 10, 2015 16:20:31 GMT -5
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I remembered laughing at Mara's words. Sure, most of them were insults, but they were also warm-hearted in a way, and I knew they were the closest to a proclamation of her liking me as it was ever going to get. So I thought of them as compliments. ("Stop talking." " We walked in silence then, though. I thought perhaps her anger from earlier, a response to my own, still lingered, and I chose not to push the issue. (I couldn't afford to lose her.) I had already lost Hedvig and that pain was still an annoying little pinch in my stomach each time I thought of it. I had watched countless people die in bloodbaths before on the training tapes back home. I had even witnessed several deaths first hand in the arena. Yet the only one that found me in my sleep belonged to Hedvig Fabre. I was honestly a bit saddened when I saw Riot's picture light up the sky: not only because her hands were holding the sword that sucked Hedvig's life right out of her chest, but because I had actually enjoyed being around her once. The times we had spent in the Capitol, both trying not to get lost in Leon's babble, quietly communicating on the train, discussing our favorite cuisines here in the Capitol, Riot had become a friend before the arena, and in the end she had become an enemy all the same. I wondered if the same thing would have happened with Hedvig, if it would eventually happen with Margaret and god I hoped not. The only sounds came from our shallow, rapid breaths as we tried warming ourselves from the cold, and the crunching snow beneath our feet. My left foot stung with each step because of the toe that the cold had taken from me, so my footsteps fell in an irregular pattern. It was early in the morning, so early that the sun still hid itself from us, and the creatures in the forest around us were just waking from their slumbers. "Can y-" I started, but I froze in my tracks. I shoved my hand out to stop her from walking, and when she looked at me with concern I held a finger to my lips. "Listen!" I whispered urgently. For a moment there was no sound at all, and I wondered if the arena was claiming my sanity, but then the same noise echoed around us. Footsteps. Weak, like that of a drunken-man on his way home from a tavern. There was only one set, and at first I thought perhaps it was the boy from Eight that had stitched me up after the bloodbath, but instead, it was a girl that became visible. |
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