[/That] for [\for] me...~it isn't over~(Damen/Sky)

The third day of training was always nerve-racking and quiet. It was ultimately, the day before 23 deaths. The tributes would piddle around, some having a partner or two to stick with. But all were mostly quiet. The third day of training was something of a day to worry about yourself. Alliances were not at the top of anyone's mind, and neither was what was going to be for lunch. People pondered about their private sessions and others worked out Bloodbath strategies. Some brainstormed on Arena possibilities and some fantasized about kills that might be made. Tributes all did their own thing on the third day of Training, only speaking when an instructor spoke or something important was needing to be said. It was not unusual, however, for someone to not be quiet. There could be a Tribute or two that yelled or maniacally laughed or cried, all for their own personal reasons. Everyone would stare and get distracted from themselves, and temporarily lose their focus. Soyala, however, was not the type to be distracted. When she had something on her mind, it was unusual for her to stray away from that, especially to the expense of herself. If she were to get distracted by a crying Tribute, her voice would mentally lecture her and threaten to pinch an ear or something of the sort.

She sat with Gage, at a table based around identifying edible and inedible plants. She only tuned out her own mental monologue in her head when someone said her name or when Gage said something. She was unsure if the voice was running a thousand words a minute or staying silent, because the majority of the time, she thought of life back home, she thought of how she regretted all of the things her voice had ever made her do. She regretted the slicing of the throats, she regretted climbing that tree that one time, just because she was convinced that doing so would bring her closer to her mother. She regretted being so persuaded by the voice, even to the point where the belief that the voice was the sky above her and how there was a name for it. She regretted how it had persuaded her to be infatuated with the Games, and have some independent training style for The Hunger Games. It was unusual to think that someone would regret training for the Games, especially in a career-oriented District, but she did. She felt guilty trying to have an upper-hand against some of the other tributes. She regretted running for hours to try to build up her legs and lungs. She regretted stealing knives from stores and carving sticks and twigs to form spears and practice throwing them at other people. She regretted a lot of things. She was full of it. She was a puppet. A puppet to something that did not even have eyes. That did not have a skeleton or skin or feet or hands.

She didn't speak much. When she spoke, it was in response to someone else. She was afraid of saying things wrong. She hadn't had much experience with people since she'd killed her parents and ran into night, but she never really wanted any either. She always carried a fear that someone would pop up out of the forest's ground and say their salutations and try to be her friend, but nothing like that ever happened, and she was glad. But if something that were to happen, wouldn't she have much better reactions to someone saying 'Hello, can I sit here?' other than tensing up and dropping her silverware on her plate. Maybe she would put on a smile and nod her head all while maintaining a good posture and seeming like a lady, all in the midst of large amounts of tension and brown gravy-ed chicken and broth-y peas. Meanwhile, on the other side of the argument, maybe that would have caused Gage to not be her friend/partner/ally/whatever they were. Maybe the reason why they'd stuck together was because they both hid something from each other, and each of them wanted to find out what the other had to have in store.

Soyala still hadn't told Gage about her voice. She was afraid of that too. Soyala had a paranoia that involved losing something that she'd never really had. She felt like she'd lose Gage if she were to share her secret, but there was no use in being scared to lose something when they were never even yours. One of them were going to die. Actually, both of them were going to die, it was just a fact. Gage was dead, Soyala was dead, and so was every other Tribute in the training room. So there was no use acting like something was hers when it wasn't, nothing was. The only thing that was hers was the voice in her head, and she wanted it more than anything for that to be lost. She found it ironic, the thing she had to keep was the thing she wanted gone, and the thing she wanted to keep was the thing that had to be gone.

She stood, tired from looking at pictures of plants, secretly wondering if Gage would follow. She wanted him to, she wanted Gage to stay with her, she wanted Gage as her ally, she was ecstatic that he might be. There was also Seaborgium and Aenor, the duo that were chatting at lunch the first day of the Games. Aenor carried a sense of beauty that could not described; large blue eyes, blonde hair, a round yet striking-featured face. Seaborgium was interesting as well, but his appearance was nothing special, at least to Soyala. She was sure she'd stay with Gage, and she supposed she'd go off with Seaborgium and Aenor as well, but she didn't know much about them. They seemed trustworthy enough, to say the least.

Suddenly, a body flew at her and knocked her down, causing a loud squeal and a hurt back. Quickly, the girl that had fell on top of her rolled off just as quick as she'd landed, spitting out apologies. The thing is, Soyala didn't listen, she was mad. She stood, fuming, grunting, pulling her hair, and other things. "Yeah, you should be sorry. You'll be glad you said you're sorry when you see my knife in your ally's back." She wasn't exactly sure what she'd just said, but her eyes bulged out and she brought her head back. What was she thinking? She was 15, that girl was probably 17, probably 18, definitely older than her. Soyala should not have been spitting out a comment like that. She'd just painted a target. "I- I'm sorry. I just overreacted. I don't mean that. I was just not expecting it. I- I'm sorry. I am."

She was.