willow hush | district twelve | cb two [fin]

willow ;  

Training with a wooden sword fucking sucked.

Because stabbing someone with a wooden sword meant splinters. And once you staunched the bleeding, you had to deal with chunks of wood inside and under your skin. And those wounds got infected faster than you can say motherfucker. 

But, whatever. It was better than school. Anything was better than school. 

After Nico Thorne and Stella Blakesley hauled their carcasses back from the brink of death, her father got it in his head that District Twelve could actually train and field another champion. 

If only they weren't so piss fucking poor.

Enter the wooden swords. And rusted axes. And dummies made of straw. 

Sweat dripping in her eyes, the girl hauled herself up off of the floor. The poor excuse for a longsword in her hands, she gripped the leather hilt, cracking her neck before stepping slowly to her father. He was still covered in darkness - all of the men of Twelve were like that. Thin, save only for the muscles that rippled across their arms, legs, and back from the literal body-breaking work in the mines. He had come back from his shift, grunting a hello in Willow's doorway before she joined him out behind their home. 

If you could call a shack a home. 

"Swing like you mean it, girl!" he yelled and Willow danced toward him, her feet light on the ground, stepping quickly. 

He parried her thrust as if she was only swinging a fan, shaking his head. 

"You're gonna die if you fight like that."

"Isn't that the whole point anyway?" she cursed quietly.