Fairfarren (Ink vs. Brewbird, Day 5)

Oh how will you find your way?
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It is a bright flash of red that brings me back into reality. It stuns me for a moment, and I blink in confusion before there is suddenly an explosion of pain in the back of my head. I let a yelp of surprise and my foot catches on one of the plants, sending me crashing into the ground. Reaching back and parting onyx locks, I find a cut that stings when I touch it. My fingers come back stained scarlet. I turn around on my back, fearful that another tribute will be looming over me, ready to make the fatal blow. One hand flies to the harpoon and I suck in a deep breath, eyes wild, ready to fight...

A bird?

Well, hands down it's the most beautiful bird I've ever seen, but still. A bird? Even if a small part of me was expecting some sort of mutt, I didn't think it would be this beautiful creature that stands before me, beak dripping with my blood that matches the colors of its shimmering feathers almost exactly. But it only takes me a moment to get over my shock. This bird is a threat. Something keeping me from my family, from my home. Therefor, it must die. And so, without hesitation, I leap to my feet unsteadly and pull out my harpoon. This bird isn't like a tribute. I can kill this easily- after all, hunters do it all the time. And yet, I can't help but feel my hand waver slightly before I attack, as swiftly and silently as possible.

[attacks Rhiannon with harpoon]
[dice=200+3000]
[Stabbed in Thigh, 8.5]

Oh how will you find your way?
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I'm pleased with the blow I land. For once, my weapon did what I wanted it to. I almost smile before I remember that this bird can attack me, too, and I yank backward, trying to look defensive. The bird looks enraged, and I take a step back, uncertain. Should I run? But then the thing is attacking, feathers making it a shimmering scarelet blur as it launches itself forward at me. It's beak pierces through the delicate flesh on my bicep and I cry out as blood begins to leak out of the puncture wound. My eyes become wide and tears prick against the back of my eyes. I whimper in pain and jerk away, one hand brushing against the wound briefly and cringing before facing my opponent again. Am I honestly losing to a bird? My eyes narrow dangerously. No. If I'm going to die, I want it to be by the hand of a human.

"Stupid bird!" I hiss angrily, taking a threatening step forward. All thought of hesitation has left. I'm in pain and locked in a horrifying Arena and I'm probably going to die, and you know what? If I can't kill the Capitol for it, than this bird will have to do.

[attacks Rhiannon with harpoon]
[dice=200+3000]
[Deep Gash on Chest, 9.5]

With great adventures,
Faces and condensation.
I'm going outside to let it all in.
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My weapon rips a deep gash in the bird's chest- while I may not be able to see the delicate flesh tear and spill scarlet life because of the beautiful feathers, I know because the bird stumbles back in pain, looking weaker and almost dead. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for the poor thing. I'm sure that it, like all creatures, just wanted a happy life, but instead it gets put here, destined to kill a tribute, get killed by a tribute, or get buried alive. But then I remember that horrible beak piercing through my flesh, and feel the blood dripping down. My left arm is a huge mess, broken and now stabbed through. I'll die with it distorted and beyond repair. I sigh, eyeing it tiredly for a moment. The bird must recognize this opportunity, for it lunges, but I am prepared and am able to back up a step before the beak comes into contact with me, tearing the skin on my left shoulder and leaving a shallow cut. Of course, my left shoulder. Because it's not like it could have been my other arm or anything.

The bird is dying. I can see it in the way its retreat is slow and stumbling, in the way it can't seem to look at me straight. Even if I run now and don't kill it, it'll probably die of blood loss or infection. That is, if the sand doesn't trap it down here first. And so my attack isn't one of rage. Not this time. Instead, it is of the understanding that this bird is in pain and that pain should be ended. No one deserves a life like this creature's. No one deserves to be destined to die so soon.

No one deserves the life of a tribute.

[attacks Rhiannon with harpoon]
[dice=200+3000]
[Deep Gash on Left Thigh, 8.0, dead bird]

With great adventures,
Faces and condensation.
I'm going outside to let it all in.
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So that's it, I suppose. One last good blow, and the bird drops dead. I watch it squirm for a moment before falling still, blinking sadly. Dead. Though I can't say that I loved this bird, I still feel horrible. I took a life- a life that was just as good as mine or that lizard's or Imi's or Luke's or anyone's, really. I stole that bird's most precious possesion, and now it's gone forever. It's just a bird, so am I still a murderer? I certainly feel like one. And I'm sure that I'll feel about a thousand times worse if I ever kill an actual tribute. This was just practice. The real deal will be deadly, and if they lose... it will be scarring. I'll never be able to live with myself.

But I don't really have a choice, do I?

I hesitate only a moment before approaching the bird cautiously and kneeling down next to it. It really is a beautiful bird. I reach out and stroke its silky scarlet feathers before my fingers close around one and I gently pull it out. And then another. And another. Until finally, I have a small handfull of beautiful red feathers clutched tightly in my palm. I back away from the bird respectfully and then sit down, still facing it. I pull a few greasy onyx strands away from the rest and braid two of the feathers into my hair. Then another pair. They shimmer bright against my dark locks, and I sigh, almost content.

Almost. Until a stupid tribute attacks me from behind.

I leap up and blood spills into my eye, blinding me in one eye. I could attack, but this boy has an obvious advantage over me. I've just been through a completely different fight. I'm weaker than he is. And so, not even bothering to acknowledge him except with a string of curses, I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can.

((Ink has fled))