what we left behind | day 3, vanguard v. chupacabras

Any trace of good spirits Wander managed to gather that evening—chasing birds with Temple, laughing gently at the stately way they accepted their cargo, then again and more loudly in delighted disbelief when Bette managed to get one by holding her hand out—crashes down with the opening notes of Panem's anthem. Yesterday no news was good news, but they all remember the canons today; at least two have died, maybe more if they missed a boom in the chaos, and Wander can do nothing about it but draw vis knees against vis chest with vis arm and wait.

For the second year in a row, the first portrait jumps all the way to District Eleven. Wander doesn't know much more about Faux than that; he was Carmen's District partner, a tall guy—or maybe only tall compared to Carmen—who seemed nice enough but who ve never had any cause to talk with.

They had planned to stick together, Wander thinks, and ve wonders vaguely how Carmen is doing, but for Faux to appear first, she must be hanging in there. For that matter, it means Annie and Quest are also alive for now.

It does not, ve remembers half a heartbeat too late to not gasp sharply at the next portrait, mean the same for Carter.

Somewhere under the artificial stars, a bird is circling, looking for a body that must have been collected hours ago. It was the quiet one of the two, a soft bundle of grey fluff almost smaller than the flower it carried, and Wander has no idea where it will go now. To his allies, maybe, offering them a rose they might not realize was never meant for them, or maybe simply back to its own life. Maybe the homing instinct is strong enough to keep it searching, carrying the last vestiges of a conversation on useless life support, until a bored Gamemaker calls it time to collect.

Somewhere further out there, well beyond the walls of the Arena, his family must be mourning. Faux's, too.

Wander hasn't cried since the train, and ve doesn't now. But when ve lays down after vis watch, it's a long time before ve finds any sleep.

---

In the morning, with their wounds soothed by rest and Eve and Bette steadier on their feet, they set out.

Despite yesterday's debacle, Wander doesn't want to leave the vineyard. Ve woke to a throat and a headache demanding water with mounting desperation, and the thriving vines must feed from something. A quick dig uncovers no obvious irrigation channels, though, and ultimately ve has to concede that it's best to move before something or someone sneaks up on them in the heavy morning fog.

Almost the moment they pass the first line of trees, another world engulfs them, one stiller and quieter than the vineyard despite the persistent dry wind and distant honks. Bette hadn't been kidding about the size of some of the Arena's trees, that first day, and they only get larger as they go, the leaves flying further and further out of reach and the trunks stretching so wide that Wander thinks all four of them, hand in hand, couldn't encircle some. It reminds Wander—vaguely and counter-intuitively, but powerfully—of staring into the empty horizon from the deck of the Forecast. Ve can barely see ten feet ahead for the trees, let alone to the edge of the world, but has that same disorienting, thrilling sense of standing amid something infinitely vaster than any human who could live to touch it.

That feeling might be a comforting touchstone, if it didn't make the scattered carnage all the more jarring. Wander agrees with Bette about following the trail—only the vineyard they already resolved to leave waits behind them, and vis throbbing hand and forehead make strong cases for not letting another ambush take ver off guard—but pacing through low, dappled light, examining increasingly fresh tattered carcasses with no sign of the hunters, sets off a relentless foghorn in the back of vis mind. Temple looks like a ghost story, vivid against the shadows in her torn and bloodstained dress, and Wander can only imagine ve looks the same. Peaceable as it seems, the vulture trailing after them doesn't help matters; it turns its beak up at every chunk of flesh, leaving Wander to worry what could taint meat so badly that even scavengers refuse it. Poison? The butcher's smell? It's sticking close to them, so the problem can't be that they smell like humans, right?

It probably can't be. Maybe. Wander hopes not, anyway. Not that ve wants to fight anyone, but ve especially doesn't want to tangle with any human who would do this.

"This is eerie," Eve says eventually, a summary so succinct that all Wander can do is hum in agreement as ve crouches to roll over the latest piece of the trail: a huge, short-snouted head with only one sightless eye remaining. Its blood is cool to the touch but less clumpy than the last one's. Aside from that, it gives up none of its secrets, and they leave it behind.

They've been silent for a while when Temple's voice rings out, a little lighter than most of the day's conversation. "Guys, come look."

"Hmm?" When Wander looks around, she's tracing one hand over a pale rock. Ve starts toward her, eyebrows raised curiously.

"Wha—"

Wander jumps out of vis skin as she jerks back.

At the same time, something tiny and dark flies past to tear through Eve's leg, sending fresh blood down her off-white pants before Wander even gets a second hand on vis javelin.

Good news is, it's not humans, but for the baby Silksharp's sake, can every single thing in this Arena stop ripping into Eve?

Eve, understandably, decides she's had enough of that, too, and smashes the thing under her spiked club with an almighty holler and a solid crunch. Wander whistles, high and impressed, and levels vis spear at the second, tracking it carefully with the point but not striking yet for fear of hitting Bette as she moves in. It's a grotesque little thing up close, some kind of spiny upright... creature, who knows—"That a lizard?" ve asks distractedly as Bette's knife takes a chunk off its head—with black eyes and claws way too long for something small enough to sit in Wander's palm. Temple and Bette had the right idea, reaching for the smallest weapons they had, but the spear will have to do.

[Wander attacks Morrigan, spear]
Bz38OAHbjspear
[Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5]


An incomplete list of puns this generator suggested as boat names, all of which delighted me and none of which, unfortunately, Valentín Linares would ever, ever name his ship: Sea You Later, Yacht In The C, Endolphin, Gettin' Nauti, Devocean, Knot Too Shabby, Reel Success. Also, not a pun, but Fish Feeder made me snort. (Also also, I'd be lying if I said I didn't half-consider The Kingdom Come, but this is the wrong character for that reference.)