even the strongest will bleed | {bb day four}

His stomach ached and grumbled, a reminder that Dan was competing in the Hunger Games, of all places — but he could hold out another day before devouring the hardtack he'd taken from the wealth at the beginning. While the small sustenance under normal circumstances wouldn't likely be an enjoyable meal, Dan did not expect to taste it, for how fast he knew he'd wolf it down.

It felt quieter without Tiger. Darker, more serious. The cowboy got it — her head taking flight had been more than enough to remind the boys that they weren't invincible, and that they'd meet their ends soon enough out here. Dan knew it, but he didn't quite believe it until he saw it happen first-hand. It didn't feel real until that moment, and he still had trouble believe it until he saw her staring back at him from the anthem — as if maybe she'd just done some vanishing trick and was due to pop out and scare them at any moment. But no, the blue-tinged mug shot gave her away.

Dan busied himself sharpening his axe with a stone, legs dangling over the edge of a rocky outcrop. He whistled to himself, an old sad tune his ma used to sing him when she used to sing him to sleep. When he was little he thought it was cause it had his name in it, but had he given much thought to the words, the lines about her upcoming death would've jumped out. Still, a five-year-old is hardly expected to pick up on the suicidal tendencies of the already-melancholy mother that he could scarcely remember twelve years later. There was very little about the woman he remembered anymore.

He paused for a moment, frowning at the District Seven as the boy sucked down his water. "Try not to drown in it, Trout," Dan drawled, "though I'm sure if someone could figure out how to drown in an arena without water, it'd be you." The jibe didn't give him as much pleasure as it had on days prior, but the Cowboy still found it hard to resist making comments.

After it was sufficiently sharp, Dan grabbed the weapon by the bit and deftly began excising his face of stubble. It was delicate work, and even the cowboy had never shaved with an axe before, but he managed to complete the task with a reasonable amount of success and without a single nick. When he was satisfied, Dan rose from the outcrop and stuck the weapon in his belt. Slowly and deliberately, he trotted over to their covered wagon, looking for some respite from the heavy heat. He flopped down spread-eagle on the wooden floor, hat resting on top of his face, unwilling to expend an ounce more energy than he needed to. But Dan was too alert to take a nap, so he found himself pawing through the satchel that held his last worldly possessions.

There was plenty for the Hunger Games, but by itself it wasn't much: medical supplies he hadn't yet needed, that hardtack he was saving until he could take the gnawing in his stomach no longer, a handful of matches, a full canteen, a net (of course), and the jar of tar that had arrived for him after he'd hollered at Troutmouth for suggesting Dan hadn't thought through whether or not the giant snakes were poisonous. Turned out that his public praise of his mentor had earned him something, at least.

He'd lost a few things that he'd picked up on the first day, though. Most notable among them was the golden portrait frame, though Dan didn't understand the point of toting around a sepia picture of himself. He'd also seemed to have misplaced his last iodine tablet, though he didn't think he'd need it. Any more water he could boil, probably; he had more than enough matches and ought to be able to find a tumbleweed to burn.

Eventually, the boredom was enough to do him in, and with his hat over his face, he drifted off to sleep.