breaking point [open]

The sun begun to climb higher into the sky, and I can feel the temperature slowly rising. I push my hair, damp from sweat, back from my face and peer down toward the base of the tree. The dog pack - I count four in total - is still circling the trunk. There are rivets in the bark where the creatures have been clawing at it. I glance about, hoping for some alternate escape. There are no other trees close enough to mine to escape to, so that option is out. Seeing no other choice, I carefully drop myself onto a lower branch. It seems as though I'll have to shoot my way out. Which, unfortunately, will not be quite so easy with my right arm the way it is.

Just as I'm settling onto the branch - about ten feet from the ground -one the wolves leaps up, it's claws raking into the bark. Fortunately, it falls short, and drops back to the ground, snarling viciously. I load an arrow and force myself to draw back the string, taking careful aim. Gritting my teeth, I let the arrow fly. It finds it's mark, and the dog collapses to the earth. "One down, three to go." I mutter to myself, taking a moment to once again assess my upper arm. It's still bleeding, but I don't think it's quite so bad. It'll definitely need some tending to when I get home, though I think it'll be alright. I reach out, gingerly trying to wipe away the blood to get a better look at it. "Yuck." I grumble, giving up. I'll just have to deal with it later. For now, the wolves require my immediate attention.

I am just beginning to draw back my next arrow when something flies from the brush, striking one of the wolves. It backs away snarling, as I send an arrow through another. As I again load my bow, I whip my head around as several more rocks sail from the underbrush, many of them finding their targets. The last of the wolves scamper away into the forest, and I cautiously swing myself down to the forest floor - it's much too dry, leaves crunch under my boots just as they would in the fall. I step forward with my usual light tread and peer carefully at the spot where the wolves vanished, a ready grip on my weapon, searching for any sign that would signify the beasts' return. Seeing nothing, I pluck the arrow from the bow string and return it to my quiver, cringing slightly.

I turn around - intending to discover who it was throwing rocks - and wind up facing a girl with rather curly brown hair, hobbling toward me on a makeshift crutch. "Are you okay?" She asks, and I open my mouth to reply, but she continues. "I heard the wolves from the other side of the fence and I thought I'd investigate. Are you hurt?" I hesitate a moment. The girl looks vaguely familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. She doesn't look like she's from the Seam, so perhaps that's why. I can't deny I'm surprised a girl from the wealthy - if you can call it even that - part of the district has ventured this far out into the woods. Not many would risk it, especially after hearing wild dogs, just to help another person. As my brother often says, it's everyone for themselves out here. "I'm alright," I reply, "and thank you." I add. "Are you alright?" I ask after brief pause, gesturing toward her crutch with my good arm. I glance briefly at my own injury, but, of course, it remains as it was.

I brush back my dark hair, rather damp and sticking to my temples with sweat. Glancing upward, I can see the hazy blue of the sky. Gazing up at the sun, I'm grateful for the shade the forest provides. It has been terribly hot recently, and not a drop of rain. "Oh, I'm fine." The girl tells me, though she sounds a smidge distracted. Her offer to bring me to her apothecary shop also takes me a bit off guard. "Oh.. Despite the pain still present in my right arm, I'd begun to forget about my injury. Although I know darn well it needs treatment, I hesitate. "Well.. I suppose I should get it checked out." I say relucntantly, flexing my arm experimentally. Myself of my mother could treat it, to an extent, at home, but we have limited medical supplies. And though I've come home from the woods with more injuries than I can count, I know I always frighten my mother when I return with anything more than a bruise. And she's right; with my limited experience, I'd probably end with an infection. "Okay," I sigh, returning her smile with a small one of my own.

"Mhm," I murmur, gazing toward the spot where the wolves disappeared to. There's a brief, somewhat uncomfortable pause, and the girl introduces herself as Willow. "I'm Nola," I reply, a bit awkwardly. I've never been good with people - usually just keep to myself. "I...uh.. I'll just stash these nearer to the fence," I mumble, half to myself, plucking absentmindedly at the string of my bow.

"I've never seen a real bow before. It looks...dangerous," I glance down at my weapon - hickory wood, worn smooth from years of use; without it, I'd surely have died long before. It's no surprise Willow's never seen a bow in person before - weapons belonging to citizens are a rarity - especially in District Twelve. With the exception, of course, of the Peacekeepers. "I suppose it depends which side of it one is standing on." My mouth quirks into a tentative half smile. "But you seem very skilled with it," The girl continues, looking pointedly at the deceased animals. I can think of nothing to say to that, and simply shrug in reply. Her next question I had been expecting. "My brother crafted it for me. Hickory," I say, tapping my finger nail against the wood. "Made the quiver and arrows too," I add, reaching around with my right arm to pat the hastily sewn leather pouch strapped to my back. Ouch. That was a mistake. I wince, letting my arm drop back to my side. I gesture in the direction of the fence with my bow. "Shall we?"

Willow proceeds to pluck several large, rather fuzzy looking leaves from a nearby plant and returns to fasten them around my upper arm. I watch intently, carefully examining the leaves she uses for any future use. And she's quite correct; though the leaves don't totally stop the pain, they do decent job numbing it. I give an approving nod, and a small rueful smile. As we begin the journey back, I continuously have to remind myself not to use my arm as I normally would, even with my temporary bandage.

Once we near the fence, I pause briefly to swing the quiver from back and stash that along with my bow and knife in my usual spot. Willow shuffles on ahead, ducking through the fence, and after a quick habitual glance to check for any onlookers, I follow suit. I follow the girl toward the better part of our district, running the back of my hand across my brow - taking care to use my left hand. It's only mid morning, but it's hot and dry. And even though the majority of the roads are dirt and gravel, a substantial amount of heat still radiates from them.

I follow Willow through the district, and soon enough we're striding toward a little quaint house, tinted gray with coal dust, and practically overflowing with plants. I do recognize a good amount of them, but several are completely foreign to me. I hurry inside after Willow, who immediately directs me to the couch. I lower myself onto the edge of the cushions, looking curiously at about. Willow wanders toward the back of the house, calling after her father, and leaving me gazing quizzically at an unfamiliar plant.

A man - clearly Willow's father - strides into the room. He looks a bit ragged, but I'm rather taken aback by how cheerful he looks. In conditions such as those that we see here, in District Twelve, I rarely see people who manage to look upbeat. Especially in the Seam. This man's calm, happy demeanor is relaxing. He greets his daughter warmly, handing her a vial of liquid. It dawns on me that Willow must have some sort of...'condition', if you will, and that whatever is in the glass must have something to do with it. He gives his daughter a pat, and strides over toward me, introducing himself as Richard. "Hello," I reply, hoping I come off well. "I'm Nola," I add hastily, as he gently begins to unravel the leaves twined around the bite, speaking easily all the while.

He rises, and returns with a bowl of what I assume to be water, in which he pours several various plants into. I watch curiously, but stiffen when he asks how I obtained such an injury. I had expected such a question, but still hesitate before answering, fiddling with the string of the little rucksack still tied at my belt. I'm reluctant to admit I've been hunting beyond the fence. I'm not the only one, but I still don't find it wise to go around telling people. Fortunately, I'm saved answering. Richard's observations of me are quite accurate. I look down at myself, and indeed my trousers are not only stained but torn in places as well. I'll have too patch them up. I nod tentatively. "I was hunting," I say slowly, "Although, dogs weren't what I had planned on running into. But sometimes..." I shrug. I've run into wild dog packs before. When you trek about the woods, you're bound to run into something sometime.