Aww yeah! Storeh!
So Katniss is 8. Cato is 10. Let's go with that.
Have fun! And please let me know if I'm too off-course. I was hoping to make it realistic, but who knows? I'll try and iron out any plot-kinks as we go, but hopefully the start isn't too terrible.
WHOOO! I'm excited. After reading a beautiful story (I forget the name at the moment, but I'll note to myself to put it in the next chapter with credit to the author!) of this pair, I've been obsessed. So here we are.
Thanks for reading!
Panic.
I stare into his cold blue eyes, bow strung, but wobbly in my hands. His bow, nicer than my own, also has an arrow at the ready, pointed directly at me. Should he release it, I would do the same. I assumed he was thinking the same thing as me.
In a stalemate of sorts, my eyes lock on his. He sends chills through me. There is a cold outer layer to him, like ice, and I get the feeling that he would have no remorse should this end in my death. I would feel bad for ending his life, which is what I want to avoid, but I have no chance. The boy seems to be older than I am by a year or two, and his height and weight are both substantially bigger than my own. The only chance I have is to wait for my father or talk my way out of this.
Seconds pass. There is no sign of my father. Why did I wander off so far?
I take a deep breath. The calculating look in his eyes makes me think he's weighing his options. Hopefully that means he's smart. Which means he'll listen to reason.
"I don't want to kill you," I say, breaking the silence we'd shared for the past fifteen minutes or so.
"I wouldn't mind killing you," he replies, but there is sarcasm there, as a defense. I have to get past that to make him lower his bow.
"We can both walk away," I offer.
He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. He can't rebut me, to be honest. We are both breaking the law here, which means he couldn't tell on me without getting himself caught. I think he's realized the same thing for me. And if we can't turn the other in, we surely pose no threat to one another.
His bow lowers an inch, but it's still strung. "I guess there's no reason to harm you." His voice is softer. My heartbeat begins to steady.
"Ditto," I reply, hopefully lightening the tension we both feel. My bow lowers a tad more than his, but I'm still ready. By the looks of it, he's from a richer district. I was born to feel resentment toward his kind, and though I know I'm biased, it doesn't mean he won't follow the example of his others and trick me. I want his bow all the way down before I'll lower my guard.
He pauses, biting his lip. "We're just kids," he says quietly.
"We can't die yet," I agree.
Both of us drop our weapons. I put my arrow in my quiver and shift awkwardly. I can't just turn and walk away, my curiosity—and a bit of my pride—won't let me. Instead, I step forward. "Which district are you from?"
"Two," he replies. "You?" He looks me up and down, a crease forming above his brow as he takes in my scruffy appearance.
"Twelve," I grimace as I say it. We are frowned upon. The lowest, poorest district. Two is the Capitol's favorite plaything, which means they're pretty much loaded and look down on everyone else. I only hope this kid is different.
"Pretty gutsy, to be out here, Twelve."
"Could say the same for you," I reply.
He shrugs, moving toward his kill. I'd caught him while he was hunting, much as I'd been. He'd taken down a squirrel, right in its throat. He plucks his arrow from the animal, wiping it with a rag he produces from a fancy pouch, and looks at me as he hangs it on his belt. Already, his belt has two squirrels, a rabbit, and a duck strung around him. Mine looks pathetic in comparison, with only two rabbits and a small bird.
"You hunt?" he asks.
"Yeah," I reply. "We need to, for food. Why do you hunt?" District two has wonderful food, almost as good as the Capitol. Surely he has no need to steal my game. For a moment, I feel a flash of anger. He has no right, with delicate pastries and hearty, filling foods at his disposal, to be out here! He's taking what I need to feed my family! Arrogant jerk!
His eyebrows furrow again. "You hunt for food?" he echoes.
"Yeah," I say again, slowly, as if he isn't larger than I am and obviously older. "Twelve is sorta poor…we'd starve if we didn't come out here and hunt."
He looks surprised by this, and I'm surprised by his surprise. Surely he was aware that while he lived a life of luxury, we starved?
"I hunt for training," he says, answering my original question. I notice his chest puff out in a display of pride. "I'm destined to volunteer for the Games."
I shudder. Those damn games. Of course the citizens of higher districts—between one and four, it always seems—love them so much. They train their children, no matter how illegal it is, to prepare them to steal the honor and glory being a winner brings. This boy, who seems to be about ten, will become a ruthless killer in less than a decade. He will be trained to kill off twenty-three other children in the arena where the Games take place.
"That's horrible," I reply in sympathy. The boy scowls at me.
"Says you, Twelve. It's glorious. I'll be famous when I win," he snarls.
I raise an eyebrow at him. "And you'll be dead if you don't."
He shrugs. "There's no better way to die, then."
I sigh. It seems that the mental training begins much earlier. He's been brainwashed into believing that the Games were wonderful things. He truly believes they protect us. What a fool.
"What's your name?" I ask, hoping to veer the topic away. I don't want to be on the bad side of a future killing machine.
"Cato. Yours?" He seems to have forgotten the spat easily, his eyes wide and curious.
"Katniss," I reply. Silence spans afterward, and he shuffles his feet while I pick at the bark of a nearby tree.
"That was a good shot," I finally say, pointing to his newest squirrel.
"Thanks," he says, smiling at me. He looks down at my belt. I was still shaky with my bow, but I'd been getting better lately, and my shots were clean in the heart or head. "You're not so bad yourself," he says, and I detect surprise in his voice.
I look at him, taking a long, sweeping glance up and down the boy before me. People from other districts were like aliens to me, and to everyone else of district twelve. We weren't allowed to have direct contact, unless approved by the Capitol, or unless we are released into that dreaded arena to battle to the death. Under such circumstances, I'd begun to sometimes wonder if they even existed at all, or if I'd dreamed them up.
Now, however, I could drink one in—a future Career, no less! I had expected a ruthless monster, but the boy had softened into something almost normal. His skin was fair, his hair a pale golden color, and his eyes were blue and alight with curiosity and something else.
He looked normal. It was strange. I'd separated the thought of other districts and the thought of "normal" a long time ago. But Cato was human, like me.
I shrug. "Thanks," I echo.
We hear a twig snap in the silence that follows. I turn to see a rabbit scamper out of the brush, darting hurriedly through our small clearing. I take aim and fire at him.
He flops with a thud, silver arrow sticking awkwardly out of his temple. Near him, a wooden arrow sticks into the ground.
I scowl as Cato laughs. "You've still got a little bit to learn, Twelve."
He takes his kill, pulling out the arrow and wiping it. But then, with a quick, "Think fast," it's suddenly in my arms. My scowl deepens as blood splatters on me, but shock takes hold as I realize what he's done.
"But…" I begin.
He smiles. He's missing a tooth, which I find odd, but almost endearing. His voice is light, airy, and completely different from the coldness I'd received earlier. "Maybe I can teach you sometime."