Chapter 7
I wake to the sound of breath rasping in my throat and the dull bang of a cannon shot. A death?
My hand is holding tightly on to the fingers of another, tight enough to crush his bones. I turn to find Gale lying beside me, his face pale and his skin covered with a shiny pallor. Bags and a few weapons are strewn in a careless circle around us, as if protecting us from things that are too numerous to count.
I shift onto my side and manage to climb to my knees. Watch shaking fingers fumble at the bottle cap and pry it open, then tilt the container till water dribbles onto Gale's face and into his mouth.
He wakes gradually, reminding me of the first new leaves on the trees after winter. I kneel anxiously over him while he stirs and exhale a long-held breath when his ashen eyes flutter open and regard me with matching relief.
"I dreamed that you died," he says, taking a deep breath that seems to shudder as it goes. "We were the last two in the arena and you stabbed yourself in the chest."
I had dreamed that he'd died trying to save me from fanged mockingjays who set the whole arena on fire and killed the rest of the tributes, leaving me as the victor. But it would not be beneficial to say this aloud.
"Come on. We need to move before the Careers chance upon and kill us."
He slowly gets to his feet, and we move on. Slowly and clumsily at first, stumbling over tree roots and small shrubs, then settling back into the familiar rhythm of the woods, our footsteps soft and velvety, weapons poised and ready to kill both animal and man. It must be mid-morning, maybe eight, judging by the sun's position in the pale blue sky. I remember the starry dark one last night, its heavenly beauty marred to a terrible degree by the destructive flames of evil, and wonder if this new one will be also be affected by some other force of nature.
We trek until noon, when we come across a friendly chattering stream with pebbled bed and banks and boulders strewn both in and near it. It teems with life – fish dart in graceful, weaving patterns around the marine plant life swaying in the gentle current, as if playing hide and seek, and clumps of reeds and patches of moss and lichen litter the shallows and banks. Here, food and water will not be a problem. Shelter isn't either; several of the boulders are actually small caves that will easily accomodate two people and their baggage.
"Stay here?" Gale questions, and I agree. Water sources are probably few and far in between in this arena, and I doubt that many have ready-made facilities like this stream. So we choose a cave, lay out our things and go to the water to fish.
Fishing with bare hands proves to be a challenge. We've never fished without some kind of tool before, and it's frustratingly slow going. But we do come up with solutions.
Gale suggests shooting the fish with arrows. I consent, and he goes off to gather berries and start a small fire – we don't need to worry about adversaries with the bow – while I wade in the water and pick a few big fishes to shoot. This method bears more fruit than before, and by sundown, we have a squirrel and a fish roasting over the fire and two handfuls of berries laid out on our folded jackets. We sit pressed up together by the mouth of the cave and watch the sun set, bathing the arena in a familiar dusky gold light that fades all too soon.
Time eventually turns the sky black and flecks it with jewels, and we look up to watch the death count. It is small and short – only the boy from 3, who must have died this morning when I heard the cannon shot. Maybe he died in the fire.
I sit back and chew on my half-cooked fish – I would not let Gale light a fire big enough to produce much smoke for fear of our Career enemies. Sure, I have the bow and we're an efficient team, but they have their two-metre swords and spears and six tributes in their alliance. I wouldn't want to get too confident.
"Have you set the snares?" I ask. He nods, and if we're lucky, my hunting partner's reliable traps might give us a day's good meal. If not, then we have my arrows, don't we?
We sit in silence, watching the sparks jump from the fire, landing and sizzling around us in some kind of mysterious harmony. They leap high enough to become temporary, short-lived stars, their fiery amber-gold colour in stark contrast with the others' sparkling silver. I stare unblinkingly at their glowing forms, flying and dancing in the cool night air, and say, "I love you, Gale."
He gathers me in his arms and buries his face in my hair. "Pity you don't love me as much as I love you." cool
Sitting in an embrace seems to be enough, but the night is eventually too cold and we have to go back inside the cave. But even there we lie wrapped securely in each other's arms, unwilling to let go. I volunteer for first watch – Gale must have stayed up the whole of last night and now it's my turn. He fights at first, but I make him stay in the sleeping bag and eventually he falls asleep.
The deep dark night wears on. Gale sleeps in his own peaceful world, and I sit against the side of the cave, holding his hand and stroking his face, sweeping his dark hair back from his forehead. Moonlight streams in from the mouth of the cave and bathes us in its pale white glow. Is it the real moon? Is it the one that shines through the bedroom window every night in District 12 and lights Prim's sweet face, innocent and young in rest? I hope it is, but hope is often destroyed in this dome of false reality.
The time of the dark continues in this manner. I listen to the crickets' earthen music and watch as the barely-perceptible change of dawn overtakes the blackness.
Gale wakes when the shimmering sunbeam hits his face, and moans and rolls to the other side. I laugh and touch his arm. "Wake up."
He slowly shifts and gets to his elbows, blinking, lavender eyelids heavy with sleep. He looks at me and yawns. "Morning, Catnip."
I imagine how much the Capitol people will be fawning over this nickname repeated too many times to simply be a mispronounciation. "Morning, Gale."
I unzip the sleeping bag and climb onto the cold stone floor of the cave, peering out the mouth at the dead fire with the still-sparking embers. "Fire died during the night."
He sits up fully and rubs his eyes clear of sleep. We start preparing for the day – he goes to do the snare run and I fish and gather roots. The thick, humid air suggests a hot day, and at noon it's burning, but by two, dark clouds gather and pour chilly torrents down on us.
Gale returns immediately, wet from the rain, a rabbit and a squirrel hanging from his belt. I proudly hold up my fish for him to see. He smiles and hurries over to me, his eyes silver instead of ash for once.
XxX
We spend the rest of the day sitting, talking and eating berries. It's been a while since I've done something so idle – the last five years of my life have been dedicated to providing sustenance for Gale's and my families. It feels good.
It feels me.
I glance casually out the mouth of the cave. It's raining buckets – far too much to really see more than a few feet. Everything was dark and grey and muted. Usually, I admire the gentle sun and breezes, as long as it doesn't get too hot. But now, with Gale's loving, warm arms wrapped around me and his breath blowing gently on my neck, I wouldn't mind living in this rainstorm forever.
Because if everything in a rainstorm is grey, then the two star-crossed lovers from the Seam of District 12 belong here.
