Wren POV: Day Six
"Phobos," Wren whispered. She sat up, doing her best not to awaken the slumbering Vera.
"Phobos, are you alright?" she questioned him.
He murmured a response, much too quietly for Wren to hear. She stood up and bridged the ten-foot difference between him and where she and Vera had slept.
"How are you?" She asked him, eyes wide with concern. In the insubstantial moonlight, he looked paler than ice.
"Not well, Wren. I can't move my arm anymore. Not with all the pain that it causes."
She looked at the nasty wound. Even in the faint light, she could see the bright red streaks that indicated a serious infection. "No, don't say that, Phobos! You'll be fine."
He laughed mirthlessly. "I won't make through tonight."
"Yes, you will!"
He reached up and wiped her face. Wren hadn't even realized that she was crying. She forced the tears to stop falling, though it was a difficult process. Once she had managed to calm herself significantly, Wren leaned closer to him.
"Oh, Phobos, I'm so sorry," Wren whispered. "It's all my fault. If I had been faster-"
"No, Wren. There was nothing you could do. I'm lucky you could buy me these extra days, but let's face it-I'm not going to be the Victor." He paused, and then added the bleakest statement of all. "It looks like the odds were not in my favor, were they?"
She let out a shaking, wet breath. Her mind whirled around with a million different emotions; endless grief and sorrow, regret, anger. Finally, Wren decided that it was time to tell him. If Phobos died, and she never admitted her feelings, Wren would never forgive herself.
"Phobos, I have to tell you, now. I love you." saying those three words were the hardest thing she had ever had to.
Wren was greeted by silence. "I-I'm sorry. I should never have opened my mouth," she murmured, preparing to walk away.
"No, wait," he pleaded, griping her hand. "I should have told you earlier. I feel the same way, Wren. How could I not, when you're so strong, and beautiful?"
Wren bit her lip, struggling to stop the torrent of tears. Slowly, she bent so that her hear rested on Phobos's shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered tilting her head up to see his face.
Phobos did not respond. Instead, he tilted his face down, and his lips met with hers. Wren hugged him through her tears, which now flowed freely down her pale face.
"You won't," he finally responded. "Even if I'm gone, a part of me will always be with you."
Normally, Wren would have laughed at such a concept or such foolishly poetic speeches. Now, all she wanted to do was to remain in that single moment forever.
Wren refused to let Phobos go. After an hour or so, Wren felt his body heat with fever. Worriedly, she offered to get water or a wet cloth, anything to lower his temperature, but Phobos stopped her.
"No, Wren," he rasped. "It's too late for me. Just…try to win."
"I can't promise that, Phobos."
He nodded, full of understanding. "Whatever you do Wren, don't kill yourself just to join me. If you must…die, promise me you'll go out fighting."
"Yes," Wren whispered through a throat so tight she could barely force out the words.
"I love you, Wren," Phobos whispered.
Wren opened her mouth to answer him, but the sound of the cannon cut her off. "Oh, Phobos," Wren whispered, watching as his eyes glazed over and his body appeared to deflate.
Wren held him tighter to her body as hot, bitter tears cascaded down her face, burning her eyes and throat.
The first scream tore itself out of her throat against her will, a yell wrought from the force of her pain and misery. "Phobos," she whimpered. "Why?" "WHY?" she asked again, louder, demanding an answer from the sky itself.
Wren did not even have the energy to turn around when she felt Vera's slender hand on her back.
"We need to leave, now." she said.
Wren turned to her uncomprehendingly. "Leave?"
"Yes. Those shouts-they would have attracted every tribute for miles. We can't afford to stay here."
Wren nodded. Somehow, she found the strength to stand up. Wren shouldered the pack that Vera had already stuffed with supplies and tied her broadsword around her waist.
Finally, she turned and kissed Phobos one last time. "Farewell," she whispered. "I wish there was something more I could do for you. I love you, now and forever."
Wren stood up on wildly shaking legs and nodded curtly to Vera.
The two ran away as quickly as they could, away from the site of the tragedy. As long as she kept moving, Wren could keep all thoughts of Phobos from her mind. As long as she was running, Wren was safe.
When they finally paused to rest, Wren considered the other tributes. There were only eight tributes left; five of the original Careers, the District three boy, herself, and Vera. Something had changed in Wren as Phobos died in her arms. She was cold, unreachable, and there was only one other person in the Arena that she would not hesitate to kill, should the time come.
"Vera, I've been thinking," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'm tired of hiding. It's because of our tactics that Phobos is dead. I think it's time to hunt."
"You cannot be serious! That would make you just as bad as the Careers!"
Wren sighed. Deep down, she knew Vera was right. "Whatever you say, I suppose. I will not hunt the other tributes. But if we do stumble across another, I will not hesitate."
Vera nodded, though her pale eyes were sad and serious. "I know. The Games do that to people."
Wren could no longer bear to stand still with the weight of Phobos's death and Vera's disappointed gaze.
"Let's move," she said, standing up. "We're out of food, and this does not seem like a good place to stop."
Wren stood up, and then paused. Slowly, she turned to face her ally. "Vera?" she questioned. "You don't have a weapon, do you?"
"I don't, actually," she responded. "Well, I have this slingshot I made, but it's not much."
Wren nodded, thinking. "Here, take this," she instructed, handing Vera the long knife that she had salvaged from Phobos's pack. "You might need it one day, and I might not be there to help you."
Vera's eyes widened significantly at the sight of the large blade in her slender hand. She stared at the sharpened edge of the knife.
She briefly considered handing her the other, smaller knife, but decided against it. Instead, she tucked the blade into her leather belt, under the knot that held it together.
"Well, let's get going, then!" Wren cried out, her voice infused with too much cheerfulness.
Vera wondered what had happened to Wren's somber demeanor of just a minute ago. She did not wish to think it, but Vera had the sneaking suspicion that Phobos's death had affected Wren in more ways than one. The small girl watched her suspiciously as the two made their way to the water in search of food.
