Beneath the Crystal Sky

by laptop246

Fawn Dogwood is 16. She lives in District 7. She is part of a prosperous scouting troop. She has two little sisters. She is learning a trade. She is being courted. She was never meant to be Reaped. "Scout. Sister. Performer. Tribute. What am I, now? Staring into my own brown eyes, I find that I can't tell anymore." High quality. Works very closely with the original series.

1. I SCOUT

PART I. BEGINNING.
CHAPTER 1. SCOUT.

Hey, I'm laptop246. You can call me laptop, or Selene, if you want. Now, this is a special Hunger Games fic, guys. I created this not to tell about a Hunger Game but about the life of Fawn Dogwood and of District 7. It will be a long fic, yes, with about 4,000 to 7,500 words per chapter. So buckle up and get ready for a crazy ride!

And now, I have the honor of introducing Fawn Dogwood, our hero, in Beneath the Crystal Sky! (BTCS)

~BTCS~

I wipe the sweat from my eyes, standing still for a moment and gazing at the setting sun. I sigh and turn back to the pile of wood I have to pile into the trailer before I can leave. I resign myself to return home at 11 o'clock tonight. That may be too late to tuck Aria and Creta in bed. They hate going to sleep when no one's home ... I bend to take a piece...

"Fawn?" I turn to see Lore Alberry behind me. "You're still working? It's an early morning tomorrow."

I sigh and nod in agreement. "We're short of money right now, so I had to work over."

"Where's your mom?" Lore brushes his dark hair out of his face. He is quite handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, but it isn't like that with Lore and me. He's from my troop, which means he's a sibling, and most definitely not available.

"She's taking wood to Redwood overnight." Redwood is one of the bigger cities in District 7. Our own small town of Sawdust is on the edge of 7, where the trees still grow wild, constantly moving so that we can let the forest re-grow after we've chopped it back. We rarely return to areas that we can remember being before, which is why Lore and my own troop is so badly needed. We scout the area that Sawdust is about to move to, and chart the land, making notes about large rocks, dips in the land, bodies of water, and things like that. And, since no adults can be spared, the troop is filled of kids. It's a great way for us to get jobs that adults usually claim.

"What about your sisters?" Lore asks.

"Home alone," I confess, motioning to the pile of lumber. "I'd hoped to have this done, but ..." I shrug. "I'm a bit tired today."

Lore's eyes widen a bit. "Already? Fawn, we're going to be gone for a week and you haven't rested up?" He shakes his head. "You'll be no good tomorrow if I don't help you."

A wave of relief crashes over me. "Would you, Lore?" He brushes his dark hair from his eyes again, as is his habit. "What choice do I have? If I don't, you'll get yourself killed." Feigning anger, I laugh and punch his arm. He punches me back playfully and we begin to load the lumber into the trailer. With his help, it takes half the time. After I place the last piece upon the pile, I pull out the coins I got for the job and offer him a few. He quickly refuses them. "I worked extra today, too, Fawn. Keep it."

I sigh and pocket the money, knowing from experience that it's pointless to argue with him. "Thank you," I say gratefully. He smiles and gives me a quick hug before breaking away. "Get some sleep." and he's melted into the forest before I can reply.

After checking that the trailer is packed correctly, I also duck into the woods, taking the short way home through deep forest, which many people would be too frightened to do. Most days, I wouldn't risk it unarmed, but pictures of Creta and Aria home alone, worried, keep taunting me. Besides, this part of the wood is practically uninhabited because of its closeness to the Chopping Zone. In about 5 weeks, the animals will be rushing back here from our new Chopping Zone. They're used to moving, just like us.

It doesn't take long to reach the house, and I manage to do so before it's completely twilight. The house isn't much - shabby and ready to collapse, but all the homes in Sawdust are the same. In fact, they are made to be easy to dismantle and reassemble, not for appearance. We basically live outside, with no floor, four walls, and a leaking roof. Some of the houses in Redwood actually have shingles, running water, and electricity. This is unheard of in the Sawdust huts. Well, but for the Peacekeeper's lavish homes, which take wagons and wagons to move. When the Hunger Games rolls around or the Capitol needs to make an announcement, Sawdust packs up and meet other moving villages at the large screen in Redwood's square, building the houses back up outside the bustling town. But this makes me sick because the Hunger Games is only two weeks away. After I return from the scouting trip with the rest of the troop, we'll have just enough time to pack up and head to Redwood before Reaping Day. I push the thought away, because it makes me weary.

I walk through the doorway that has never known a door, placed to the east as weather comes from the west. In Redwood, all the houses have doors and face each other so that they can have proper streets. In Sawdust, we rarely see another house from our own. Placing my boots on the ground by the door, I venture about the small room, the hard-packed earth still and firm under my feet. Curtains hang to separate the bedroom from the kitchen. There's not much sitting about because it's a hassle to move around many worldly possessions.

"Anyone awake?" I peer around the curtain. A pair of wide eyes stares at me. "Fawn?" Creta's voice asks.

"Oh, Creta," I sigh, heading over to her. She and Aria use the straw mattress while Mom and I sleep on the floor around them. "You should've slept, baby." I smoothed her hair, so alike mine but curly.

"I couldn't," she whispers to me. "I was worried about you." A smile touches my face as I think of how worried I was of her. "Aria tried to stay up, too. But she waited last night, too, and ..." Creta pats her sister's shoulder gently. Aria looks nothing like Creta and I - more look Mom. She has the raven hair and firm jaw that is common to our district. Creta and I stand out with our nut brown hair and smaller noses. Mom says we look like our father, who died during one of the many, terrifying forest fires of the year. Sawdust doesn't travel to that part of the district anymore - no wood to chop.

"I'm fine," I kiss her head softly. "You should sleep now, though." I know the next words before they leave her mouth. It's our nightly routine. "I'm not tired yet. Sing me a song."

"A song?"" I feign surprise. "I don't know any songs - I can't sing!" Creta giggles and persists. Smiling, I give in,

"The sparrow calls to the squirrel to scurry right along. The sparrow calls to the Cocobolo to bend and sway with the wind.

"The sparrow is no mockingjay to sing a child to sleep. The sparrow is no kitten to toss to a chunk of wood.

"The sparrow calls to those it likes, to walk among the branches. The sparrow calls to you to see the wonder of the forest.

"The sparrow calls, 'Come with me!' Will you come? Will you fly beneath the crystal sky?"

The song's tune is soothing and its beat slow and steady, and by the end of it, Creta's eyes are sliding closed. She makes a visible effort to wake up, rubbing her eyes. "Fawn?" I smooth her curls again. "Mmmhmm?"

"Wake me up tomorrow morning," she yawns. "I want to say goodbye. A week's an awfully ... long ..." she is asleep before she finishes her sentence. I smile and kiss her forehead. "Of course, my woodland sprite." It's a nickname long since adapted for her - Creta is my sprite; Aria my nymph. Sometimes, they call me Sparrow, for my song, insisting that I am as acquainted with the forest as it.

I sit beside Creta a moment before reaching over to stroke Aria's back. She lets out a little snore, curling into a ball. I cannot help but smile. Aria, twelve, has five years to Creta's seven, but in sleep they are the same. I wonder briefly if I am also so sweet and vulnerable in sleep, my jaw relaxing and breathing deeply and slowly.

I lay down on the floor, pulling a blanket over me and bundling another under my head. I close my eyes, willing myself to go to sleep. Normally, I wait for Mom to get home, but since I'm about to go scouting for a week ... like Lore put it, if I'm not on my toes, it may very well be the end of me. It takes a moment, but soon my mind is spiraling into dreamless sleep.

~~BTCS~~

My internal clock wakes me before the sun has risen enough to. Shaking the weariness from myself, I sit up and glance about the room. Mom is back, sleeping peacefully beside me, and neither Creta nor Aria stir on the mattress. I sit there silently for a moment, stretching my arms, neck, and back as I always do on the morning of a scouting day. Getting up, I stretch my legs and torso while locating my scouting outfit, which I make efforts to keep nice. It consists of a green shirt, durable brown pants, and a nice leather jacket. I put it all on and begin breakfast - a concoction of berries and rabbit meat that I managed to scrounge from the nearly empty woods this week. Of course, this is totally illegal, but we don't get a lot of fresh food in 7, so the Peacekeepers don't object, so long as we share.

When the scent begins to flow through the house, my mother gets up and dresses in her usual work clothes. She gives me a small smile and bends forward to smell the food. "Delicious," she proclaims. I correct her automatically, "Edible."

Mom laughs. "What more could I ask?" Mom is a tall woman with the straight raven hair and firm jaw that is prior to our district. Her eyes have a stubborn gleam in them, which I am told my own get, but show good humor as well. Her hands are calloused; her arms strong and firm from all those years of chopping trees down. She's quite pretty, I suppose, though age and work have worn down her looks considerably. "I'll take over here," she suggested. "You go wake Aria and Creta."

"Gladly," I say. "Good luck saving the meal." She laughs as I duck behind the curtain. Soft dawn light is beginning to peek from between the boards of the beaten down wall. Aria is sitting up and stretching, a yawn stretched upon her young features. Smiling, I sit gently beside her. "Good morning, my nymph." There is no mistaking the sadness and worry in her face as she turns to me. She hates when I go out scouting. She doesn't sleep well, constantly worried about my safety. Though I have only come home badly injured twice while scouting - the one in my leg still acts up occasionally - Aria acts as though this only gives her greater cause to worry.

She embraces me, whispering. "You'll be careful, Fawn?" I give her a squeeze before letting go.

"You know I will." I kiss her head and gently shake Creta. She jolts awake immediately and smiles at me. Before I am fully aware of Creta sitting up, they have tackled me into a hug. Laughing, I tickle them until they dart away, giggling, into the kitchen. I pause before following to straighten the blankets strewn across the room.

Breakfast is quiet. It's impossible not to notice Aria, Creta, and Mom's eyes on me, thoughtful and worried. I smile at them delaying my departure. "Riccy said she'd stop by," I say, naming a girl one year younger than me and in the troop. Mom smiles, having met Riccy upon occasion, but no further attempt at conversation is made.

Before long, Riccy Longshadow does appear at the doorway, knocking on the wooden wall, which sways ominously as she does. Greeting her, I stand and deposit my dishes on the small collapsible table. Smiling, she enters and motions for someone behind her to follow. "I've got a recruit," Riccy announces as another girl follows her in. Riccy, with her long blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, sticks out like a sore thumb among the district. The girl behind her has brown-black hair and hazelnut eyes, fitting the normal District 7 protocol.

"Oh, good," I dust off my hands and study the new recruit. "Branchball will finally be fair. Are you familiar with the sport?" The girl's hazelnut eyes narrow in confusion and she shakes her head. "Don't worry - it's easy. I'll teach you." Shaking my bangs out of my eyes, I extend my hand. "Fawn Dogwood, and this is my mother and sisters, Aria and Creta."

The girl takes my hand and I am suddenly aware of how young she is - only thirteen or fourteen. Only too often, we take out kids her age and bring back shells. Will this be the fate of the hazelnut-eyed girl? "I'm Johanna Mason," she tells me.

"Mason ..." I muse. "As in District 2?"

Johanna makes a face. "My granddad migrated," she told me, her voice having that young lilt to it, but she refuses to elaborate.

I turn to give my sisters quick hugs, promising that I'll be back soon. Riccy strikes up conversation with my mother, but I am aware of Johanna's hazelnut eyes watching me carefully, calculating. A small grin creeps onto my face and I know she's a survivor. Maybe she will survive this coming week after all.

~~~BTCS~~~

We meet the rest of the troop at the Peacekeeper headquarters. They all greet Johanna similar to how I did, with various degrees of warmth, welcome, and trepidation. We all know the risks she is taking - we took them ourselves when we were as young as (or younger than) her.

The Peacekeepers go to strenuous lengths to identify us. After the blood, finger print, and DNA testing, they take Johanna away briefly to bind her in promises and threats. When she reappears, she has the same white crescent moon identification mark that we all do. It is located near our right ears and looks like a misshapen, perfect scar. I smile wryly at the sight of her. She's one of us now. There's no turning back for her.

We are silently marched away from Sawdust but we don't venture into the woods just yet. The Peacekeepers keep glancing nervously at each other, finding the forest daunting even at this distance. Of course, the troop (Crescent Moon Troop, as we have named ourselves) finds this widely amusing, suppressing smiles and restraining laughs until it hurt. When we are, finally, a considerable way from Sawdust or any other town, the Peacekeepers stop. After sternly reminding us of our oaths, they hand us each a bedroll and a pocketful of knives. In addition, Lore is given the equipment for charting the land, long since becoming our most skilled charter. Once we have received all the Peacekeepers care to give us and are promised wages upon return, we turn to the woods and leave without preamble, eager to leave the Peacekeepers and Panem behind.

I breathe deeply as we enter the forest, enjoying its fresh and natural sheen of smell. We stop as soon as we are beyond the Peacekeeper's sight, stretching and talking amongst ourselves. Lore glances at me and calls "Get enough sleep, Fawn?" I grin and reply, "Enough, thanks to you!" He shrugs this off and turns to his parchment, already noting the types of trees, their thickness, and dips in the land.

"Aw, man!" Kri, one of the oldest members of the troop, will leave us in a few months on his eighteenth birthday, when the adult jobs become open to him. Now, he is looking at his bedroll in distaste. "I got the ripped one!"

"Here," Lyda, our youngest member to ever survive her first day, rummages through her pockets to hand Kri a needle and thread. "I had it last time." Kri thanks her, well aware of the cost of the thread. Promising to repay her, he stows the threaded needle carefully inside the bedroll.

I take a moment to examine my own knives and bedroll. The bedroll is in perfect condition, and the knives have minimum dent- and rustage. Pleased, I glance around the troop, feeling a sudden weight leave my chest and, replacing it, kinship. Here, in the woods, I can relax, knowing that the others will protect me as I will them. Birds chirp among the canopy, and a stream rustles nearby. I dip my heels into the soft dirt, thinking of the many years that have passed since a human stood under these trees...

Johanna is staring about her, eyes wide and mouth in a small 'o'. I nudge her and she turns to me in wonder. "What do you think?" I ask with a knowing smile.

"It's so ... different!" she gasps and my grin widens. This was my first reaction, too. I had expected it to be devoid of life as the Chopping Zone that I was accustomed to, having never met the wild woods before. "We're not even properly in yet!" I grin at her and take her knives. Mostly new, they are almost in as good of condition as mine. I tell her so and motion to a nearby tree, only about 15 yards off. "Let's see you throw."

Johanna hesitates a moment, moving the knife from hand to hand, eyes narrowed and calculating. She raises her arm slowly, and lets the knife fly without warning. It lands in the corner of the tree, and, upon further examination, I see that it sunk an inch or so into the deep bark. "Not bad," I say, remembering a twelve year old boy who missed the tree entirely and hit Lyda instead. Thankfully, her quick reflexes had saved her from a serious injury. I have Johanna hold the knife again, correcting her grip and other fundamental techniques. The next time I have her throw the knife, I direct her to a thick, knobby vein and the knife lands only an inch from her target. After brief congratulations, I send her to fetch the knife.

"Seems talented," Poy appears suddenly beside me, and I jump despite myself. Poy is a shadow with his dark skin and hair, which makes him handy to surprise some of the predators that stalk us out here ... I automatically glance around before replying, "Yeah ... didn't stab anyone, did she?" Poy cracks a smile that quickly dies because we're both thinking of what happened to that boy next ... I glance quickly at Johanna, retrieving her knife without difficulty. Remembering the distraught faces of the young children's parents, I shudder with distaste. The thought of carrying Johanna's shell back to Sawdust is so unbearable; I promise myself that I will keep that from happening.

~~~~BTCS~~~~

The terrain proves perfect. There are thick amounts of trees, and spacious clearings where we can store the equipment and even build some houses. The wood itself is mostly pine, and I breathe deeply, savoring the smell. Pine ... we haven't cut pine since I was eight - nearly a decade ago! Creta hasn't ever smelled its sweet scent. And kids like Johanna, Lyda, and Aria don't remember it. Dad always covered the floor of our home with pine needles, laying down and stretching out on a bed of pine. Ever since, pine has been home, childhood, and safety. The thought of living surrounded by pine gives me a distinct feeling of satisfaction, as well as a bit of sadness because it makes me think of Dad.

We are unchallenged by the predators of this area, which is typical on the first day. Animals, I have learned, observe, lurking in unseen shadows, before making their presence known. It's an old saying between us Crescent Moons: What you see in a moment has seen you for hours. When Lyda mentions this to Johanna, the latter is immediately at attention, gazing into the trees even after Lyda informs her that it's pointless; they won't be seen unless they want to be.

The predators are, of course, the reason for giving us the knives. The scouts without weapons never returned to Sawdust or any of the other moving towns. For awhile, Peacekeepers scouted, but this quickly ended because they were terrified of the wilderness and loving of the luxuries they had in their large, hard-to-move homes in Sawdust. So they gave the scouts the knives, with great trepidation, and intimidated us and bound us with oaths they thought we'd never dare break. And we haven't, not yet anyway. We could easily circle back to Sawdust and arm them with the knives, igniting a rebellion, but it would never get far. No, better to wait for the fire to start and then to fan the flames. But the option is still there, and we are all, horribly, aware of it.

As we walk, I keep a sharp eye on Johanna, noting the curiosity in the eyes that dart about, trying to see everything. Her tight grip on her knife, though, shows that she is wary and aware of the danger the woods pose to us, but especially her, since she is our apprentice, trainee, weak link. The animals always target the small ones, which is why so many don't survive. Lyda, however, surprises them all by proving ferocious despite her height. Johanna doesn't have the same spunk as fiery-haired Lyda, not yet at least, but seems to be made of the same stuff.

Each time we stop for Lore or someone else to adjust our makeshift map, Johanna is instructed with her knife. Sometimes Riccy takes charge, or Lyda or Kri, but I don't again, preferring to silently watch and ponder her fate. She quickly improves and can soon hit the knots from twenty feet. We have her try thirty, forty. She manages admirably, and we all praise her for it, though we know that this is nothing compared to what she may face later.

We go without eating for the day, and no one complains. We are well used to the routine, and Johanna has doubtlessly gone hungry before. When the sun has been falling for quite some time, around five o'clock, we decide to stop for the day. Trew, our Branchball champion, approves the scene for the game, and we quickly set up camp. "Girls' cooking night?" Lore suggests with a well-meaning smile. I snort. "I'm hunting."

"I think I'll stay," Lyda is not bashful in any way about staying for cooking, considering that she and Poy are the only two that can scrounge up a decent meal. "Care to keep me company, Poy?"

Poy smiles, already difficult to distinguish from the shadows in the lowering sun. "Of course," he tells her. "Riccy, Kri, and Trew want to stay, too, I think." The three volunteered for cooking put up a small protest that doesn't last long because we all have to cook one time or another.

Lore and I gather our knives, side by side, glancing at Johanna periodically as she waits for us beside the steadily growing pile of firewood that Kri and Riccy are building up. "Do you want to hunt together or alone?" Lore asks me. I think it over a moment. "Together," I decide. "because the animals normally attack the first night and we have Johanna to think about ..." Lore nods tersely, and we leave the clearing abruptly, with Johanna in tow.

Despite that we are in a large group and our senses more trained for predators than prey, Lore brings down a large rabbit and a goose, and I a squirrel and a sparrow. Neither of us are too pleased to see the goose. Where there are geese, there are large bodies of water. Ponds can be a nuisance to work around, and the water is far from pure. Sawdust's main supply of water is from streams and small rivers.

We have several opportunities to shoot down mockingjays and deer, but we don't. The deer are too large for our troop of 8 to eat in one night, and carrying around meat is tedious. As for the mockingjays, we have, despite ourselves, grown attached to the creatures. When we come across a grove full of them, I whistle part of Aria and Creta's lullaby, the part about the crystal sky, and the mockingjays, to my delight, sing back, filling the woods with their sweet, lovely notes.

Johanna doesn't really hunt. She tries once for a rabbit but misses. Mostly, she just watches me and Lore, copying our crouched, light steps and tilting her head to catch the sounds of tiny woodland creatures scurrying about the roots of the trees that will be gone in two fortnights. By the time we make our way back to the camp, I find myself feeling quite satisfied with her progress. Maybe she will survive the week after all.

The walk back is uneventful. I am tense the whole time, expecting a wild animal to jump out at me. Lore, too, is weary, constantly adjusting the rabbit attached to his pack to try and give him more maneuvering room. Johanna is copying our moods, and doesn't speak. Then again, none of us really speak while hunting; it just scares away the prey. But we do manage to get back to camp without getting ourselves maimed or killed, which Lore bitterly comments to be an obvious improvement. Johanna, upon realizing that this comment is about her and the other young ones, raises her head in pride, young eyes glittering with confidence she has not yet earned.

Lyda and Poy, to their everlasting credit of making our meals edible, have found some berries, nuts, and herbs to add to the meat. I don't care to ask the names of these, because I'll forget, but I do make note of them. If something were to happen to Lyda or Poy, someone would need to cook, and it might as well be me.

When the food is gone and we are all comfortably full, we gather around the dying embers of a fire we were so bold to make. Any animal around us now knows where we are. We are more alert for an attack than ever. The fact that one hasn't come yet is worrying to me. Why hadn't they attacked me, Johanna, and Lore when we were alone, weighed down by our kills? The fact that they hadn't made me think they had some kind of strategy, or that they were nearly human.

We wait around the fire awhile, but when none come, Trew sighs and stands. "Well, we might as well play, right?" There are muttered agreements, and Trew fetches the two balls, one small and the other large, both the color of lightly weathered oak. When Sawdust meats another moving town, like Walnut, we get to have a proper game of Branchball, with nine balls and three teams of 6. But we scouts are not so many, nor are there rarely so many youths with energy to play in Sawdust, so we have condensed the game slightly. We play with two groups of three, and the two balls. Normally, its girls versus boys, with one boy left over to stand guard. Today, however, we have Johanna, so we girls argue our way into getting Johanna on our team without another stepping back, as she is a beginner.

"All right, Joey," Riccy turns the larger ball over and over in her hand, and Johanna smiles at the nickname. We give them easily - Riccy's real name is Wristine, and Kri, Krime. We rescued poor Poy from Pomreek, and upon occasion they call me Faw, but no other, more sophisticated and fitting nickname has presented itself. "You haven't played Branchball before, have you?"

Appearing slightly embarrassed, Johanna shakes her head. "There was never any time. I had to work often."

Lyda nods, having been in the same place when she joined us. "Nothing to be embarrassed about; it's easy enough, Anna." She pauses and tilts her head. "Anna," she muses. "I think I like that more."

"Or just plain Jo," I say. Then, reverting the conversation back to Branchball, "We don't have many people out here, so there's just two groups of three, with you as an extra bonus to us today. That's girls versus boys."

Johanna's eyes are very wide. "Is that very fair?"

Lyda laughs. "Not for them. Agility is just as important as strength in Branchball." Lyda, of all people, knows this well, and we have all come to fear her in the game, despite her small and lanky appearance.

"The two balls," Riccy tosses the larger one up as she speaks, "are the tricks. One team, us tonight, is in possession of the smaller ball (normally there are three, one to each team, if you play properly) and have to keep it constantly in motion, from person to person, without dropping it. You may not hold the ball more than two seconds, or you're out."

"The other team," I say, "which is the boys, tonight, has the large ball (if you play it right, all the teams have two). Their objective is to capture the small ball. The moment they have it enclosed in their fists," I demonstrate, "they have won the game. They may intercept it however they like, but foul play is looked down upon. Oh, and it is played in the trees, on the branches."

Johanna's eyes narrow as she tries to straighten this information out. "But what is the bigger ball for?" she wants to know. "And how do we win?"

"The larger ball," Riccy throws it, "may be used to intercept the small ball, or to shake the branches of the trees to unbalance the other team. You are allowed to throw it at other players, but, like Fawn said, others getting hurt is looked down upon. If the small ball falls to the ground and is not caught, whoever reaches it first is in possession. If the girls get it, it is thrown again, if the boys get it, they win."

"As for how we win," Lyda's eyes are glittering. "If we manage to tag one of the players, they are immediately out. Once we tag all of them, we win."

I add, "Branchball, properly, is much more complex, what with the larger and more numerous teams and the extra balls. You'd have a harder time there - it's so chaotic, you can hardly tell what's happening!" I chuckle in mirth. "Better you learn here. Maybe you can play when we meet up with another town - Sap or Pine Needles."

"Now, Faw," Lyda pretends to scold. "Let's just get her through this one game, first."

"Right," I grin, picking up the smaller ball. "So, that's everything, Anna. Who wants possession of the ball first?"

Lyda's hand shoots into the air before Riccy's lips can part. Grinning wider, I toss her the ball, and she twirls it in her fingers. "We're gonna win!" she decides, and Riccy gives that brief applause.