I'm sorry for not being able to update for all of my other fictions, it's just that I'm stuck in this other fandom called Hunger Games. So, one day, I was bored with no internet connection and this came through.
Winter strode by through tatters of the blackening flag of District 12, snow that dribbled against the coal-dusted hairs of people from Seam that brought forth agonized cries of the sick, and sometimes, death. Of course these yelps never reached the skyline of Panem, like a whisper lost through the sea of trees and bushels and coal dust of the forest beside the District. Their cry hits in null through the electric fences that barricades the wild creatures from them, or so they say.
But no longer was the gray snow glazing throughout meadows and streets, or little embers crackling through the fireplace of wealthy merchant houses, or tapestries torn by the hazardous blizzard that sent animals scurrying away as far as possible. Spring has slowly blossomed through the snow-varnished stumps and weeds, a harbinger of hope and rebirth. Or so they say. Even though, hope has died through the cold embers that sung dissonance against merry wistfulness and corrupts it into resentment and survival.
Éponine crouched still, stealthily hidden behind an old tree with thick barks that measure up to an inch. An ideal spot for hunters to prey on unsuspecting fawns that marches into a clearing in the midst of flowering trees with its hind legs ready to spring up and escape its predator, if there were any. By the stretch of her bow, and the stance of her knees, she is ready to release the arrow that would mark the fawn's death. She refused to let herself breathe, wary of detection as the fawn lay into slumber. And she's ready to shoot-
"What are you going to do with a hundred-pound deer?" A voice hisses through the solitary woods startles her and sends her arrow flying to anywhere but the fawn. Alerted by their presence, the beautiful beast scurries away far as it can from the area.
After releasing the breath she withhold for long seconds, she releases a characteristic snort at the blond boy who interrupted her wealthy catch. "That's not very funny Enjolras," Éponine glowers, and the boy returned it with nothing but a smirk she found to creep through her veins.
"Whatever," Enjolras shrugs, pacing closer to the huntress. Before he is able to close the distance, a resonant crackle tilts their head towards the sound's origin. "Well," he remarks. "Peacekeepers flood this place, can't sell anything like that when you know it's illegal."
"You sell to peacekeepers," Éponine says, sheathing her bow back to its place in the hollows of a fallen tree, and her arrows beneath a lumpy boulder with crawling moss around it.
An attempt for reason, he shakes his head and frowns. "No, not today."
"Why not?"
"There have been rumors," he mutters in a low voice, yet still sleek and melodious. And if possible, he speaks the next statement in an even lower tone. "… Of a rebellion stirring in other districts."
They stood by the deeper meadow, the glades barely reaching their ankles. An epiphany flashes across her face, no matter how fleeting it was, he saw it.
"What?"
"You're not joining," she grits through her pursed lips and fumbled through the tatters of her leather satchel. "Are you?"
He stands silent for seconds and more and gazes sparingly at the glaring sun and more to the thousands of pine that's lined up into an endless forest. "Look at all of these, Éponine."
"I'm not blind."
"Then think about it." In his voice, she found no attempt of him to convince her, just pure longing for a much freer world, without the grasp of the Capitol tightly sewed against their necks and its ownership over them stumped into their sinews. "We're not slaves, no one should live like this."
He left her thinking.