Eventually we decide we better get some sleep. It's about halfway through the night and the day's action is catching up on us. We decide to get a move on in the morning and make up for the time wasted sleeping. We're too tired to pitch up a tent, even if we had one, so we end up settling on the floor. Awkwardly there's only one blanket. I suggest for Dral to do the chivalrous thing and let me have it, he suggests for me to do the polite thing and let him have it. We end up sharing. I'm almost embarrassed enough to let him have it. Almost. Unfortunately for us, the Gamemakers seen to have sneakily been dropping the temperature so we were absolutely freezing. I think back to when we were in the career camp in those nice, snug tents and the crackling fire. Dral tugs the blanket off me so I shove him and steal it back. I guess Capitol people don't still think I'm an innocent posh girl, but maybe that's for the best.
One thing I can't understand is why it's so cold. If the Gamemakers want it to be torturous for people then send mutts in, but mucking around with the temperature isn't fair. Then I have to remind myself that the games aren't fair and that they're doing it to annoy us. Well, more than annoy us, they're messing around with the temperature to kill us or drive us to lighting a fire which would result in death. I slowly drift off to a freezing sleep, riddled with fears and worries.
There is blood all over my hands, and no matter how much I rinse them or wash it off it stays and sticks like glue, sticking to anything I touch, never leaving. There is blood on my hands and it won't go away. What do I do? What can I do? Will it ever go away? There is blood on my hands.
I wake up, gasping for air, my face ridden with sweat. The hunger games is getting to poor little Kara Jaymond, they'll be saying and my sponsors will flutter away and sponsor Precious instead, which I can't let happen. I spend a moment collecting my thoughts and look around. Dral is already up, fixing breakfast. I don't even know if Dral can cook well. When we made that stew in the career's camp he was trying to add the most ridiculous of ingredients. I shrug; some things are best not worried about. When I join him Dral looks startled.
"You're up!" He says, surprised.
"Well done, have a gold star." I mutter, using my hands to comb my hair which has returned to its straw colour and texture.
"How was your night?" I ask eventually, feeling guilty that I stole his blanket.
"I couldn't sleep." Dral explains, "Took me a few hours."
"I know, what are the Gamemakers doing, fiddling with the temperature. Can't they make their mind up?" I ask Dral, feeling guiltier by the second.
"No. It was too loud." Dral says.
"What was?"
"Your snoring." Dral explains.
"I do NOT snore," I say, waving my hand in front of his face for defence.
He bats my hand away, "You snore all right." He chuckles, then imitates a loud snoring noise, mouth posed in a grunt.
"I don't snore!" I protest again, hitting Dral with the blanket.
"Oh yes you do!" teases Dral, "Of all the people I've heard when they're sleeping you're the loudest, even louder than my dad!"
"I doubt your dad will be happy about you saying that," I point out, "Anyway, I protest."
"Protest all you like." Says Dral, "You snore!"
In the end I give up and start eating the stew Dral has prepared. It isn't half bad, but isn't the kind of thing you have for breakfast. I point this out to Dral and he glares at me.
"If you're insistent of keeping to the time of the day, I'll have to make you aware of the fact that it's not breakfast since it's not breakfast time. I'd make it a sort of brunch."
I look up at the sky and see Dral's right. It's almost the afternoon and we haven't set of yet. Before Dral can object again, we've packed up our things and are on the move again, this time a bit slower than before.
"Why do we have to move again?" Asks Dral like a whiny toddler. I guess he has become a bit like that recently, whiny and pathetic. I tell him what I think about him whining and he hits me with his rucksack, which is surprisingly heavy. I guess Dral must have put all the heavy essentials into his pack in case I didn't come. I wonder what Dral would have done if I'd have said no to going with him. Would he have killed me? The thought sends shivers down my spine, but I trek along anyway. Technically, I'm just an obstacle in his way that he has to overcome. Basically he is the same to me, though I think we're a lot more than that to each other. I hope we're a lot more than that to each other then obstacles because that is what's keeping me alive, Dral. He saved me from the careers and now I'll have to save him somehow. But the thought still strikes my mind – only one of us can win these games, and no matter what I feel about Dral, it has to be me.
After a few more hours of walking we finally reach the edge of what looks like a swamp. I can't really tell because the ground dips steeply into a valley, but the trees are swamp trees and the ground is boggy. We continue along, ducking under slimy creepers and skeleton branches, reaching out to grip us. Finally we manage to push our way past algae and slime to reach a shallow pool of muddy water underneath an overhanging decaying willow. Without any conversation, Dral and I both crouch down and fill our water bottles, then set the water up for purification.
The purification process should take a while so I sit down on a mossy rock and Dral rests on a gnarled log. When he just places himself on it, it suddenly lurches to life. How could he have been so stupid? Dral just sat on an alligator! Dral notices what he has just done and runs to me, I've already got knives drawn, one in each hand. I shoot them both at the alligator, one in the tail and one on its back. Then I realize how Dral mistook it for a log. The Gamemakers have supplied the alligator with some sort of wooden body armour. It is made out of wood! My knives simply stick into its wooden outer shell. I've never seen this mutt before and realize I don't want to have to see it again, its wooden tail swishing around, splattering dirty water everywhere.
I'm about to flee when I notice our water. The only water we have is on the other side of the alligator. We're going to have to get past it. Now I realize how I've been having it easy while all the tributes were out battling Gamemaker mutations or mutts as we call them.
"Kara, our water." Dral says, staying stiffly where his is as if he is petrified.
"I know!" I hiss, and then I look at the alligator. Its body is made of wood and my knives are still embedded in its outer skin. Outer skin, a thought hits me. Perhaps it is only wooden on the outside, maybe it's real on the inside, and if it's real on the inside then we can get it. As if in answer to my thoughts I see a swish of pink on the alligator's undercarriage. I ignore this magnificent beast which is slowly and surely swaggering towards us, ready for its next meal. I notice the bulging stomach and think carefully, well, at least I know where the tribute from district nine is. Rip didn't kill her, this alligator did.
"Its belly," I say, "Go for its belly, there's no wood there."
Dral nods and makes a complex sign motion with his fingers. I look at him, confused. Draw rolls his eyes.
"Now!" Dral calls at me, impatiently.
He charges to the left of the alligator and I stumble to the right as the alligator lunges forward to where we were before, its jaws wide and gaping. Dral gets his sword and cuts the alligator by the edge of its undercarriage, just making it angrier. It turns and snarls at him, its teeth slathered in rotting meat. That's a tribute that doesn't need a hovercraft.
It's about to attack Dral when I force my meat cleaver knife into its tail, making it focus back on me. The cleaver has held it into the ground, rooting it there, but it will escape sooner or later. I quickly tug out the remaining bits of deer from my backpack and lob them on the floor in front of it. It gulps them down in a matter of seconds. I see Dral grab the water cartons and purification system and we look at each other and nod.
"Run!" I scream and we do.
Dral dashes off into the swamp, me hot on his tail. Backpack in hand, only a small knife and a normal one left and just having one of the scariest things happen to me ever. I can hear the alligator lumbering after us but I know it won't catch up with us. One disadvantage of being made out of wood is that it's very slow.
"See you later alligator!" Dral calls as he speeds off into the tangled net of trees.
We dash off further into the swamp to find somewhere to hide, with a hope that maybe the Gamemakers will leave us alone after that display. Maybe.
OK. He sits on an alligator, that's the oldest one in the book, but I explained WHY he was stupid enough to do that... it's made of wood. Please review. I wanted something different with this chapter and I think I got it, but I don't know if you'll like it or not, since my 'action' scenes aren't that great.