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Ch.2

Rowan's POV

Rowan, Alder calls to me from the kitchen, rousing me out of sleep, it's time to get up.

Fine, I answer irritably, burying my face into the pillow, I'll be there in a minute. Sometimes having a psychic connection with your twin brother is just plain annoying. I roll onto my back and start to sit up, rubbing my bleary eyes with my fists. Suddenly, the memories of the previous afternoon flood my consciousness, and I spring out of bed, my heart pounding wildly. Images of Alder, beaten in the town square, bruised and bleeding, flash behind my eyes. I rush into the kitchen, only to find Alder smiling and making porridge for breakfast. His long chestnut hair is pulled back into his usual ponytail, his clear green eyes look alert and cheerful. He has a bandage on his head but appears otherwise uninjured. Only his careful movements reveal that he is still badly bruised beneath his clothing. Holly is sitting at the table, nonchalantly doing her homework while mom stares dreamily off into space.

"Rowan," my mother says warmly, "I'm glad you're up." She then returns to her own world, staring at the ceiling and grinning absentmindedly. A few years back she was injured in a lumber accident, a common occurrence in our district, leaving her with a slight mental handicap.

"But how—" I start, looking questioningly at Alder.

"Eat your porridge," he says, shoving a hot bowl into my hands and silencing my train of thought "need strength for reaping."

There's no need to get mom and dad worried, he tells me silently as he turns back to the stove, They have enough on their minds with two teenage children going to the reaping today. Holly agrees with me.

I look over to where Holly is sitting and, sure enough, she is giving me a look that needs no psychic connection to understand

Fair enough, I say in return, taking a seat at the table and shoveling the hot grain into my mouth, but how did you explain away that bandage?

I told them I got hit in the head with a branch at work. It wouldn't be the first time that sort of thing has happened.

True, I say, casting a glance towards my mother, it certainly wouldn't. Just then my father hobbles in and takes a seat at the table. Just as my mother has lost her grip on reality to the lumber industry, my father has lost a leg.

"How's it goin freckles?" He asks me teasingly.

"Dad, I've lost most of my freckles over the years so the nickname doesn't actually make sense anymore," I shoot back.

"You've still got quite a few on your face from what I can see," he laughs. I give him my best playful death glare, tuck my short mahogany hair behind my ears and continue eating my porridge. Alder comes and sits beside me, working on his own bowl. An uneasy silence descends on the room.

"I've got a math test tomorrow," Holly pipes up, coming to the rescue. Holly's schooling is always a safe topic, since she's the genius of the family. At five years old she's already been put in classes with the eight and nine year olds and is acing every class.

"I'm sure you'll do great, sweetheart," my dad says heartily, and the rest of us nod in response. This is the way we deal with the reaping every year. Light conversation and forced pleasantries. None of us want to talk about it, as if invoking its name might cause it to inflict its wrath upon us. As if it was a living thing.

"Well, Alder and I should probably get ready," I say, standing. My father's brow creases with concern.

"Yes," he says, barely concealing his worry, "you should." Before anyone can say anything more, I slip into my room and shut the door. Anxiety begins building in my stomach, tightening its hold as I change into my green reaping dress and clip back my hair. Since both of my parents are injured and unable to work, Alder and I have to support the family financially. We both work in the woods as lumber jacks with the rest of the district, but the wage is very small and the labor is hard. In order to supplement our family's income, we've both had to take out large quantities of tesserae. Add that to the fact that there are two of us and the odds are not in our family's favor. Thankfully, we're only fifteen, but I've seen many kids with much better chances than us be sent to the games. I walk into the kitchen, catching sight of Alder in his reaping day clothes. He looks quite dashing in his black suit and green shirt, despite the large bandage on his head.

You look beautiful, I tell him, and he blushes a deep red. I smile in spite of myself. We say a quick goodbye to the family, promising to meet up with them after the reaping and head out the door. Once we've past the threshold, Alder grabs my hand, giving it a quick, warm squeeze. We walk together towards the reaping, each of us attempting to channel strength into the other.