Disclaimer: This fic is rated 'M' for language and future sexual content. I do not own any of the characters of The Hunger Games (although I wish I did). All other ideas and creative liberties are my own.
The thing about back-up plans? No one ever expects to use them. Never mind a back-up back-up plan. Not when all possible outcomes have been scrutinized a hundred times over by every engineer, physicist, and medic, leaving no possible room for error. Theoretically, it should have been a perfect entry. But that's just the thing, it's all theoretical. When your people have lived in the same hunk of metal traveling through space for centuries, there's no guarantee of certainty beyond the walls of your ship.
With a deep breath, I take a moment to collect myself. Besides a wicked case of whiplash and a few aching muscles, the rest of me seems to be intact. The fuselage of the POD, however—well, not so much. There's a huge crack running down the center of the control screen, and a number of flashing lights blink an angry red, but right now they're the least of my worries. The smell of unburned fuel stings my nostrils, causing my survival instincts to finally kick in. So, with shaky hands, I fumble with the straps tethering my body to this ticking time bomb. With a satisfying rip, I tear myself free from the seat and locate my pack, dumping everything not bolted down to the POD into it. I consider sending a quick message back up to the ship, but bright pink fuel now covers the keypad of the control panel.
Nope. Not worth it.
Thankfully, the POD door slides open without any difficulty and my official greeting to this new world comes in the form of a brutally cold slap to the face. It's the best thing I've ever felt. The heaviness, I could do without. The medic assured me I'd adjust quickly to the change in gravity and as long as I didn't succumb to any sudden dizzy spells, I'd be fine. Shouldering my pack, I focus on lifting my heavy feet, but the toe of my boot catches the doorframe and I tumble face first into the snow-covered ground below.
Welcome to DIST-12.
With a face full of snow, I reach over and adjust the dial on my forearm to increase the temperature of my suit, and before I know it, I'm enveloped in an invisible bubble of warmth. Not a clue about how the thing actually works (something about thermoelectric converters and temperature differences), but what I do know is that I don't want to freeze my ass off before locating any sort of civilization. I need to keep moving.
My body still feels like a steel weight, but I'm coasting on my adrenaline high, so with a grunt, I manage to crawl my way back up to my feet. Everywhere I look I'm faced with a wall of snow. No wonder my entry failed; without something for the POD to aim for in this endless sea of white, I'm surprised I didn't ricochet off some mountain face. What a way to go that would have been.
According to my communicuff, I should have landed about fifty clicks south of wherever the hell I am. The orange comm light flickers rapidly, then to my horror, goes out completely a second later. With a whispered curse, I jam the transmission button down and bring my forearm closer to my face. "This is Cadet Mellark reporting in, do you copy?" I hold my breath as I wait for confirmation, but all I'm met with is silence. I try again. "I repeat, this is Cadet Mellark reporting in. Entry to DIST-12 was successful. POD suffered severe damage during entry. Do you copy?" There's nothing, not even the background crackle of static. Maybe there's something interfering with the signal.
Holding a hand up to shield my eyes, I make out an outcropping of something not too far off in the distance—trees or rocks perhaps? But hopefully, shelter. It's a bit of a trek, but what other choice do I have? I'll give the comm another try once I'm out of this storm, not ready to rule out the possibility that I've lost all communication with my ship.
One slow and grueling hour later, I find myself at the edge of a heavily wooded area. Squinting, I can't make anything out beyond the tree trunks, so my senses are on high alert. There's no telling what awaits me in there, but considering my only other option is to continue trudging through a snowstorm...creepy woods it is then.
Once amongst the cover of the thick foliage, I'm surprised at how quickly my eyes adjust. It's noticeably warmer too now that I'm out of the wind, almost as if I've just walked through an invisible wall, leaving the cold and snow behind me. After lowering the setting on my suit, I do a quick scan of my surroundings as I catch my breath. The cramp on my side that I've been trying to ignore for the past half hour is only getting worse, but I have to ignore the pain, my instincts telling me I need to keep moving.
The deeper I trudge through the forest, the less dense the trees become, but I still have a hell of a time avoiding their long, spindly branches that threaten to scratch at my face, almost taking out my left eye at one point. The ground is different here too, slightly spongy beneath my feet and so unlike the hard and unforgiving metal floors I've lived with my whole life. Being able to see where I'm going though has boosted my mood considerably, and as some of my initial unease subsides, it suddenly hits me…I'm surrounded by trees. Actual living trees, and beneath my feet is dirt.
Stopping in my tracks, I drop to my knees, digging my fingers into the ground and scooping a handful into my palms. It's soft, a little grainy, and malleable. Bringing it up to my nose, I inhale deeply and my nostrils twitch. It's unlike anything I've smelt before, hard to put into words really, but "fresh" and "clean" and oddly enough "sweet" all come to mind. It's nothing like the sterile growth medium we use on the ship.
A gust of wind rustles through the leaves, bringing me back to reality, and I scramble back to my feet. Glancing up at the canopy overhead, there's still some daylight filtering through. But for how long? I won't be safe here when darkness falls. I need a spot to regroup and reassess.
That spot comes half an hour later, in the form of a small clearing. After a quick examination for any immediate hazards, I finally take a moment to prop my back up against a rock and catch my breath. As expected, it's grown considerably darker—but surprisingly warmer—over the past few minutes, so I decide this is as good a place as any to bunker down for the night.
Glancing down at my forearm, all my vitals appear stable and I readjust the temperature on my suit again. I'm reminded of the lack of a signal coming from the comm feed, but I try to make contact with the ship again regardless, hoping for better luck this time without the snowstorm interfering. Unfortunately for me, luck has never been on my side. Thankfully, the red homing beacon is still blinking, so even with communications cut off, they must know I survived the landing. With a heavy exhale, I start the countdown on my communicuff.
Three weeks. I just need to survive three weeks and then they'll send help.
Rummaging through my pack, I pull out my info pad and swipe the screen to life, thrilled to see it survived the trip. Although I could probably recite all that's known about this planet in my sleep (there's just that little of it), I can't help but scan the information again.
DIST-12 – the twelfth of thirteen planets with the potential to sustain human life, located on the outer edge of the habitable zone orbiting the G2V star Vesta.
Atmosphere: sustainable
Energy Source: Vesta
Moon(s): Vertumnus
Inhabitants: Unknown; assume primitive.
Topography: Varied including coastal plains, temperate forests, tundra, and low mountain ranges.
Mission: Assess the planet for suitable colonization. If conditions prove to be conducive, initiate surveillance protocol. If at all possible, do not engage with local inhabitants.
And that's it. All I have to go on.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I can't help but laugh. How the hell did I get myself into this? Oh wait, I didn't. With the mounting debts my mother garnered over the past few years, we were given two options: give up our living quarters or double the number of times her children were entered into the draft. Being the youngest and only one still eligible, the odds were certainly not in my favor. And considering it'd have to be a cold day in hell before my mother downgraded to the lower decks, unofficially known as The Seam, guess which option she took?
Being selected as tribute, as we're so graciously labeled, promises the chance of a lifetime. Or that used to be the pitch back during the early days. Chance of a lifetime, my ass. Each time our fleet happened upon a galaxy with the potential to sustain life, so began the preparations for the draft. In the beginning, there was no need for the lottery-style system we have now. You didn't have to look hard to find an eager cadet who craved the fame and glory of having first contact with our potential new home planet. But once people started realizing the one-hundred-percent failure rate of these missions, being selected soon became a death wish, and the pool of volunteers declined dramatically.
This time around, though, we seemed to hit the jackpot, stumbling upon a galaxy with not only one or two but thirteen habitable planets. The excitement on my ship alone was overwhelming, outweighing the undercurrent of dread when everyone eventually realized what that meant. Thirteen tributes for thirteen planets. And seeing how everyone aboard the Capitol was sitting pretty with the knowledge that they were once again immune from the draft, one unlucky ship would have the privilege of selecting two tributes.
You'd think I'd have been more surprised when my name flashed across the screens as the selected tribute for DIST-12. But after being constantly surrounded by people and sharing an eight-by-twelve metal box with my parents and two older brothers for twenty years, my prospects for the future weren't exactly looking too rosy. Not after the marriage and procreation restriction was initiated on our ship last year. If I was going to die alone anyway, I'd rather it be for a worthwhile cause.
Without anyone to share in my pity party, I go through the rest of my pack to see what survived the trip. I find a pair of night vision goggles, but the left lens is completely shattered and nothing happens when I try to switch it on. Damn, those would have been perfect right now.
The HOLO still looks intact, and I hold my breath as I try to activate it. It's nothing more than a glorified map, but down here, it's a lifeline. Impatiently, I wait as it sends out a burst of signals and slowly produces a three-dimensional digital projection of the surrounding terrain. There's a green dot next to a tall mountain, which must be the POD, and further away is another green dot but it's blinking; that must be me. Five additional blinking blue dots are on the move in different directions. Those would be the exploratory drones that launched just prior to impact. At least my mission won't be a complete waste, and assuming they're all functioning properly, they should be relaying information and video feedback up to the ship by now.
Turning the image, it looks as though I've found myself in some sort of low-lying valley. There might be streams close by, with the way the land dips shallowly in a few spots, but with the thick underbrush and uneven terrain, I'm better off waiting for the light of day before tackling that task.
Speaking of water, I go through the rest of my pack, creating a mental inventory of what I will have to work with to sustain me for the weeks to come. With gentle care, I lay out my meager provisions: A thin, black sleeping bag. A half-gallon self-filtering canteen full of water. A first-aid kit. A four-inch knife. A kinetic lighter. A package of fire bricks. A few weeks' worths of dehydrated rations. And a pack of protein bars. My stomach chooses that exact moment to growl, and with my adrenaline high starting to peter out, I become acutely aware of my stomach trying to eat itself.
As I scarf down half a protein bar, I eye my supplies and the HOLO. If I'm careful, there's enough there to last me a solid month, and if those truly are streams, all the better. If not, at least I know where to find snow to melt, should it come to that. Where there's water, there's life, so something other than protein bars and dehydrated rations isn't out of the question.
Washing my cardboard tasting dinner down with some water, I debate lighting a fire. I have no idea what's out in those woods; a fire could either send them running or draw them in like a beacon. Every part of my body aches, and if I let my eyes shut for just a second, I know I'll be out like a light. Better to rest for a few hours now while I can, so digging out the lighter and half a fire brick, I allow myself the luxury of a small fire.
After powering down the HOLO and repacking everything except the sleeping bag, I lean back against the rock and stretch out my legs. While watching the flickering of the flames, I try to formulate a game plan. My true mission is simple: Survive. If I can manage that much, then all I have to do is wait. Tomorrow I'll search for water, then scout the area for any wildlife and a better place to camp for the night. Once that snowstorm lets up (if ever), I might be able to return to the POD and see what I can salvage from the wreck. A few extra pairs of underclothes would be great, and I know there's a tool bag stashed somewhere that'd come in handy. Who knows, maybe the comm device on the POD is still working and I could find a way to rig up—
BOOM!
My head whips around towards the east. Three smaller blasts echo through the night and I tense. Shit…the POD. Hanging my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a string of curses. Well, there goes the hope of clean underwear. Releasing a humorless laugh, I shake my head, the realization seeping in that I might be in for a worse night than I expected.
If anything—or anyone—out there didn't already know I was here, they certainly do now. So much for the surveillance protocol. I scramble to my feet and stare into the black nothingness, scanning the woods for any sign of life. Nothing moves; just the shadows cast from the fire against the trees. For five long minutes, I struggle to get my racing heart under control, eventually plunking my ass back down against the rock after convincing myself nothing is coming for me. Yet.
For all I know, there's nothing out there. I repeat this to myself, over and over, but that doesn't keep my eyes off the woods. To confirm what I already know to be true, I pull the HOLO back out of my pack and switch it on. The steady glowing green of the POD is gone. There are just my own blinking green light and the drones that are slowly making their way beyond the ten-mile radius of the HOLO's signal.
There's no use draining the battery, so I switch the map off and return it to the pack. Sinking back down to the ground, I draw the sleeping bag over my shoulders. It may offer a false sense of security, but whatever. If that's what it takes to get me through tonight, so be it. After tying the ends of the thin material together across my chest, I rest my head against the rock, slowly allowing my muscles to relax and my eyes to close. The last thing I think as I listen to the crackle of the fire is that it's a good thing I'm a light sleeper…
Snap! The sound of a breaking branch startles me awake. Shaking my head to clear away the fogginess of sleep, it takes a few seconds to orient myself. The sky is still dark and the fire is still going. I couldn't have been out for more than a few hours. Snap! Snap!
Heartbeat racing, I reach for my pack, fumbling in the pocket in search of the knife. Shit. Rule Number One from Survival 101: keep a weapon on you at all times. Or was that Rule Number Four? Find a source of fresh water was Number One, then shelter, then… Regardless, Professor Atala would be rolling her eyes at me right about now. Less than 24 hours on this new world and I've already made a potentially fatal error.
The moment my fingers curl around the knife handle, something comes whistling towards me. Surprised by my own quick reflexes, I duck. Thunk! Whatever it is has lodged into the tree trunk less than a foot away from where my head should have been. Scrambling on hands and knees, I loop the pack around one arm and make for cover behind the large rock that moments ago was my pillow.
A tense minute passes in silence. During that time, I study the object lodged in the tree trunk. Iridescent blue feathers stick out the back end of what appears to be a primitive arrow. Primitive maybe, but certainly deadly. After another silent minute spent psyching myself up, I risk a peek over the cusp of the rock.
There's nothing there, but then something large rustles in the underbrush across from the fire. Something—or rather, someone—emerges from the shadows. It's a woman…I think. Petite in stature with a furry cape held together around her shoulders with what looks to be a piece of bone. Her dark hair is tucked into a braid that hangs over one shoulder, and she's got another arrow notched and ready to go, aimed straight at my face. But that's not what causes me to stare. Not what causes me to rise to my feet as though I've been caught under the influence of some magical trance. It's the pair of antlers sticking out the top of her head. Antlers? And from this distance, it's hard to tell if they're attached to some sort of headdress, but at the angle she's standing…they can't be real. Can they?
With an arrow still trained between my eyes, the woman takes a step closer and narrows her stare. "Where is your herd?"
Well, I'll be damned. The odds are finally looking in my favor, it seems; she speaks my language. But how? Shaking my head, I realize it doesn't matter. That's one hurdle down, just about a thousand more to go. Now if only she'd lower her weapon.
Pulling her bowstring tighter, she asks again, this time her voice harsher, "Your herd, where are they?"
After quickly shoving the knife up the inside of my sleeve, I outstretch my hands with palms facing up and slowly step out from behind my shield of rock. "Please don't shoot, it's just me."
With a less obstructed view, I get a better look at this strange woman in the firelight. She's smaller than I originally thought, the bulk of her body hidden beneath that cape of fur. And those antlers, I can't stop staring at them. You hear rumors all the time from retired cadets about other races they've come across, but this is just bizarre. They have to be real. There's no way she's keeping those things atop her head without them being welded on.
She studies me right back, and I can only imagine what she sees. Some gawking idiot with a blanket tied around his neck who's probably got leaves and dirt and whatever else stuck all over him. Not exactly the first impression I pictured, but oh well, my disheveled appearance must work in my favor since she lowers her arrow, deeming me harmless. Although now it's pointing straight at my crotch. I'm not sure which target is better.
Standing as still as possible, I allow her to scrutinize me, but her face is frustratingly blank. I'm pretty certain we both know who has the upper hand here, and she's not scared of me, that much is obvious. It both intrigues and frightens me just a bit.
I wrack my brain to recall the protocol for first contact, which is surprising considering Effie had me reciting the damn thing for a week straight to make sure I didn't botch this up. If not found to be hostile, engage in preliminary introductions. Ms. Trinket never really did focus on what we were supposed to do if the local inhabitants were found to be hostile. But I guess that's kind of a rhetorical question. I'd be dead.
Right, introductions. Make eye contact. Smile. Exchange names. Simple enough.
I slowly lower my hands and try to smile, but not too much. For all I know smiling at someone here could be considered an offense punishable by death. Clearing my throat, I focus on keeping my voice calm and neutral. "Hello, my name is—"
A bloodcurdling shriek tears through the silence of the night air, stealing the words right out of my throat. I don't have to live here to know that whatever the hell that was, it can't be good. The expression of terror that crosses the woman's face as her eyes dart towards the trees confirms my assumption.
She looks back at me, and for a moment neither of us speaks. Lifting her arrow once again, the woman motions towards the direction of the sound. "I am not the only hunter in these woods. Your fire," she hisses, casting me a scathing look. "You might as well have shouted, "Come take me!" If you value your life, you will come with me. Now."
Not recalling this situation ever being covered during training, I'm not left with many options. Take a leap of faith and trust this strange woman who could very well be leading me straight to my death, or refuse and wait around for whatever that was to do the job for her. I'd say my choices are looking pretty grim, but my gut tells me to trust the pretty face, even if she is scowling like mad.
"Where?" I ask, but I'm already shouldering my pack beneath my make-shift cape.
"Away from here."
I mentally run through the rest of my supplies and scan the ground to make sure I don't forget anything. I've still got the knife tucked up my sleeve, but I'm better off keeping it there until I find out exactly where "away from here" is. Following her into the trees, I make sure to keep a safe distance so she knows I'm not going to try anything. Something tells me she's an ace with that bow.
We walk for at least an hour, me following the best I can in the dark, though it doesn't take long before I'm lagging behind. Stopping halfway through, we take a quick break so I can readjust my pack and catch my breath. Sure, we're only walking, but I've never had to be mindful of rocks and roots or dodge branches and vines before. I'm not used to this kind of exertion, but hey, I've got a pretty valid excuse after being cooped up in a spaceship my whole life.
It's amazing how nimble she is, her lithe body allowing her to duck and weave through the trees, despite the antlers atop her head. Antlers! Can't forget about those. No matter how long I study them in the filtered moonlight, I keep coming to the same conclusion: they're real, growing right out of her head like tree trunks.
The sound of running water drags my attention away from the woman in front of me, and just off to the left of where the path bends, the ground slopes down to a stream that's no more than a few feet across. This must be the one I saw on the HOLO. Making a mental note of any discerning landmarks, I try to memorize where we are, in case I ever need to find this place again. A few minutes later, I follow her up a rocky outcrop, where all of a sudden she halts, her hand extending out to stop me. She points upwards to where I spot an opening into the side of the rock face.
She's got to be kidding. "Up there?"
With a quick jerk of her head, she scampers up the rocks with inhuman speed and agility, disappearing into the opening, bow and all. Hiking my pack higher up onto my shoulder, I blow out a steady breath and try to retrace the path she took up the rocks, fumbling my way up to the mouth of the cave.
The woman is waiting for me, and grabbing hold of my arm, she drags me the rest of the way into the cave. Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, huffing and panting as I wait for my eyes to adjust. The floor is covered with a thick layer of needle-like leaves, and with my breathing back under control, I roll onto my front and sit back on my knees, trying to take in my surroundings.
The space is no more than twenty feet across and twenty feet deep, and towards the back of the cave, a spark catches. A few seconds later, the cave fills with the warm glow of a small flame. Rising from her crouch by the fire and without setting down her bow, the woman skirts around me back to the mouth of the cave, where she shifts some sort of blind woven from tree branches to conceal the entrance of the cave.
"Sit," she commands, pointing to a spot by the fire.
Although still a bit weary, I'm not really in any position to say otherwise. So I pick a spot in front of the fire with my back towards my only exit. It may be a fifteen-foot drop to the ground, but at least I have a way out if things turn hostile.
Moving to my side and into my line of sight, she raises her arrow and points it back in my face. "What are you called?"
"Peter," I say, extending my hand. At first, she just stares, examining it for a moment, as though she's expecting something to appear out of thin air.
Looking up from my hand, she raises her eyebrows. "Pee-ta?"
Chuckling, I shrug. Close enough. "And what's your name?" When she doesn't answer, I parrot back her own question. "What are you called?"
Lowering her arrow, she moves to stand in front of me, making an obvious point of putting the fire between us. There's a brief pause as if she's trying to weigh whether I'm worthy of the information, and for some reason, I hold my breath until she speaks. "Katniss."
Katniss. I've never heard that name before, but that's no surprise. My parents weren't very adventurous with our names, and neither are most parents on my ship, choosing to keep with the traditional names of our ancestors. If you ask me though, they're all pretty boring. But Katniss…it's pretty. As is the strange woman standing across from me.
Once out from under that furry cape, I can finally get a good look at her. And damn, she's not what I was expecting. Her long-sleeved dress is belted at the waist and hangs down past her knees, ending in a fringed hem. Laced boots cover the rest of her legs, but even though she's practically covered from head to toe, I can tell she's all toned muscle beneath her clothes. The bare skin of her neck holds my gaze for a moment before I take in the features of her face. Dark, wide-set eyes. A slightly upturned nose. A set of sensual lips that are pursed in a firm thin line.
I take it all back. She's not pretty…she's beautiful. Even if she is staring at me like I've just ruined her night. But then again, who's to say I haven't?
Pulling a small blade from her belt, she finally takes a seat and we sit in silence—her studying me like she trying to figure out the best way to flay me with that blade, and me trying to figure out which line of questioning to go down next.
Eventually, Katniss sets her bow down and makes an obvious show of removing the crude but rather large blade strapped to her boot. Huh, I guess I missed that one. From the looks of it, it's nothing more than a piece of stone that's been chipped and flaked to a jagged, nasty point, but I bet my daily bread ration she could skin me alive with it.
After she places the huge knife on the floor, I find myself drawn once again to the top of her head. Fascinated, I watch as the shadows from her antlers dance across the cave wall behind her.
She's the first to speak again. "When did you lose your crown?"
"My—my what?" She motions above my head. Oh shit, she thinks I'm one of her kind? Swallowing thickly, I make a quick but stupid decision to try and play along. "I—uh, I don't have…any."
Body stiffening, her hand hovers close over that huge ass knife at her feet. "Are you an Avox? A traitor to your herd? What was your crime?"
"What?" I sputter. What the hell is an Avox? "No, I haven't committed any crime."
Lifting one brow, she studies me for a moment longer, as if she can somehow see into the depths of my soul. She must find me innocent of whatever it is I'm being accused of because all the suspicion and tension leave her body. As if I wasn't even here, she leans over and produces a bowl full of what looks to be nuts. With a rock in one hand, she scoops out a handful and places them on the ground, where she begins to pound on the shells.
Crisis averted, I blow out a steady breath. I watch her for a few minutes as I consider my next move. Does she expect me to stay here for the night? Am I being presumptuous to assume so? I still don't even know where "here" really is, and it's about time I started getting some answers.
"Where are we?"
"My home," she says, not looking up from her task.
"I mean, out there." I hook a thumb over my shoulder and wait for her to clue in to what I'm asking.
Placing her rock and bowl aside, she reaches for an arrow and using the tip, draws a crude sketch of two groupings of triangles with a few random squiggles throughout in the dirt on the floor. She points to the base of the triangles on the right, to the side facing what I believe to be a large body of water. "We are here, Taiga. I found you here," she says, tapping to the opposite side of the triangles. "Erimos."
For a brief moment, I consider bringing out the HOLO, but that'd give me away for sure. Besides, I have no clue how she'll react to the technology. The last thing I want is to make her feel threatened. Chances are she doesn't even know humans exist. Nah, I'm better off holding back for now.
"And those?" I ask, motioning to the other set of triangles with my boot. "More mountains?" She nods. Based on her curt answers, I get a sense she's not going to be very forthcoming with any geographical specifics, so I point to what I assume is a central plateau between the mountain. "And here?"
"Tundar."
I nod as if the word actually means something to me. But from what I can remember, the area between two mountain ranges receives little precipitation, a dead zone so to speak. And on this planet, a weird kind of snow desert. If I had to venture an educated guess, her people are most likely situated somewhere on the other side of the mountain.
Huh, perhaps the POD hadn't been as far off its target as I originally thought. Considering the purpose of my mission is to observe, they'd have wanted me to land somewhere discreet. So it makes sense now that the dead side of a mountain was what they'd been aiming for. Shaking my head, I let out a mirthless laugh. Glad I was privy to that bit of information.
I've been quiet for too long and judging by her narrowed stare, she knows I've pieced something together. I might as well come right out and say it. Reaching over, I point to the other side of the mountain. "Is that where your people are?"
Without breaking eye contact, she erases the drawing with her foot and before I can even blink an eye, she's on her knees with the arrow notched and pointed at me again. "You are not from these lands."
As if that wasn't already obvious. Dammit, too much too soon. "No."
"Where are you from?" she demands, then motions to my neck with a dip of her arrow. "Remove your hide."
"My what?" I glance down, then realize she must be referring to my forgotten cloak. Slowly, so as not to startle her, I get to my feet and undo the knot at my throat, letting the sleeping bag drop to the floor.
She lets out a gasp as her eyes widen, then proceeds to blatantly look me up and down not once, but twice, her attention finally focusing on the blinking lights on my communicuff, which until now I've been able to keep hidden.
"You are not of this world?" Lowering her weapon a few inches, she gets to her feet too. "Did you arrive on the star that fell from the sky?"
Well, there's no sugar coating it now I guess. "Yes." My confession has a greater effect than I'd thought. She backs away, mouth gaping open before she shuts it tight and then starts pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Uneasy, I clear my throat. "Maybe I should have been more precise. What you saw fall from the sky was my POD, not a star."
This stops her pacing. "What is a…POD?"
"It stands for Pilotable Observation Drone, or as some like to joke, Probe of Death." I chuckle, remembering how as kids, my brothers and I used to make fun of how old and junky the things looked. Only an idiot would willingly send themselves hurling down to a planet in one. Rye liked to say you'd have better luck surviving the trip in a tin can. Lucky for me, that tin can lasted long enough to get this idiot on the ground in one piece. "Sorry, bad joke. It's a small shuttle. I used it to get here from my ship."
Her face turns blank once again, but she nods as she sits back down. "So you are of the star people."
For now, I decide it's easier to just go along with whatever she thinks I am rather than argue. We can sort out the details later. You know, when she's not waving an arrow in my face every few minutes.
"Until you removed your hide," she continues, "I believed you to be a scout from beyond Erimos." I decide to keep quiet, sensing she's not finished yet. "Not many dare to venture out this far." Her head tilts as she stares at my face, obviously just as curious of me as I am of her. "Your coloring is different too. I have never seen such pale hair before, or eyes of that color." But then her eyes narrow again, focusing on something below my head. "What is around your neck?" she demands, still clutching her weapon.
"Huh?" I look down the front of my suit but see nothing, then reach up to scratch at the back of my neck. "Oh, you mean this?" So as not to alarm her, I slowly reach down the front of my shirt, fishing out the chain around my neck. I almost forgot I had it on. "Nothing to be scared of, just my ident tag."
"Your what?"
"Identification tag. It lets others know who I am." She stares at it for a little longer but then nods, and I tuck the chain back down the front of my shirt.
I'm still not exactly sure why they were issued to us. Everything about me including my complete personal medical record is stored on the chip they shot into my arm just before my POD was deployed. I'm assuming the tag is just another one of their back-up plans in the off-chance the chip fails. Whatever the reason, I found it interesting how each one came with a unique inscription on the back, mine apparently from an ancient religious text. And the truth shall set you free. Kind of ironic for someone like me, but a nice sentiment I guess, even if it's not of much use to me in my current situation.
The tension in the air is still clear, so if I'm going to get anywhere with her, I need to earn her trust. "Can I show you something?" When she slowly tilts her head, I carefully reach for my pack, taking my time to pull back the zipper and fish out a protein bar. The metallic wrapping must catch her eye and she leans in a bit closer to look around the fire. "This is food," I start as I tear into the wrapper. Taking a small bite to prove it's safe, I break some off and offer it to her.
Her stomach must overrule her fears, since she crawls over on all fours towards me, then carefully reaches out and takes the piece from my hand. She smells it, her nose scrunching up in a way that makes me chuckle, then tests it with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes meet mine when she finally takes a tentative bite.
As she chews slowly, I take the opportunity to study her face again. Besides the antlers, the only thing marking her face differently than a human face is the slight point at the tops of her ears. And maybe her eyes are a little on the larger side, and the color a metallic grey I've never seen before.
I'm captivated by the way her throat moves as she swallows, but the way her body shudders and her face scrunches up afterward makes me bark out a laugh. "Sorry about that. It's not the best-tasting thing in the world, but it does the job."
With a shake of her head, she retreats back to her side of the fire and reaches for something under a woven mat. I tense for just a second, but then catch sight of two pieces of coarse, flat stone. Sitting up on her knees, she positions the larger one in front of her and places a handful of the nuts she's just shucked onto it. Taking hold of the smaller stone, she begins pounding then sliding and rolling the nuts over and over. Within a few minutes, she's turned the nuts into a relatively fine powder, scraping it into a wooden bowl before scooping out another handful to grind. Then it hits me. She's making flour. Having never seen the process done like this before, I inch forward a bit more, fascinated by the fluid motion of her hands and wrists.
According to my father, when our ancestors were still back on Earth, we Mellarks were bakers. But after the mass Exodus, the occupation of "artisan baker" was one of many that were lost due to the change of lifestyle aboard the ships. The knowledge behind it, though, was something my father and grandfather felt the need to pass on from one generation to the next, no doubt in the hopes that one day, we Mellarks could get the chance to revive the craft.
Curious, I watch her for a few minutes, waiting to see what she'll do next. When she's done with the rest of the nuts, she pushes the stones aside, reaching for a flatter one that she rubs something onto before carefully inching it into the fire. Glancing into the bowl, I see she's got a pretty decent amount of flour, to which she then adds a handful of dried flakes and a few splashes of water from what looks to be a water skin, before plunging her hands into the mixture. After rinsing the paste off her fingers, she settles back into her spot by the fire, assessing me again with those piercing grey eyes.
She's got to be burning inside with questions, but she's either much better at hiding it than I am, or she just doesn't care. But I don't believe that either. Instead of bringing me here, she could have left me to the likes of whatever it was back in the woods. I owe her my life, and for that, she's earned my respect.
Hard as I try though, I can't help but ask the one question perched on the tip of my tongue. "May I ask you something?" Without so much as a glance, she nods. "Your antlers, they're real, right?"
"My what?" That catches her attention and I motion to the top of her head. "Oh, my crown," she says, her voice much lighter, almost friendly. Reaching up, she rubs the spot where one grows from her head like a tree. It seems my being an ignorant star person has now earned me some leniency with my personal probing. "Yes, it is a part of me. I assume they do not have them where you are from?"
"No, we do not. But before, you called me something, an Avox? What is that?"
"In my herd, if one does not have a crown, it is because they have shed it, or it was cut from their head."
"And that makes you an Avox?"
Though she hides it well, there's a flicker of something in her eyes. "It means banishment. Exile from the herd as punishment."
I consider myself somewhat good at reading people, and by the sounds of it, I might have hit a little too close to home on that one. But now that I've finally got her talking, I'm not about to take two steps back. "So, you said your people, they shed their ant—I mean, crowns?"
"Each year, around this time. When they reach maturity, the males of my herd retreat to the woods for a fortnight where they shed their crowns."
"They're gone for two whole weeks?" This earns me a quirk of her lips and if my ears aren't deceiving me, a quiet chuckle. I can't help but smile too.
"It is messy, which is why they leave our village for a camp not far away. And because they are worse than fawns during that time."
"And the women? I mean, females?"
Her face shifts as an uncomfortable pause settles between us, during which she looks anywhere but my face. I'm starting to regret asking when she picks up a stick and pokes at the fire. "Yes, the females shed their crowns too when the season changes and the weather warms."
"Does it hurt?"
Her doe eyes widen, and a pretty flush stains the apples of her cheeks. Have I hit another nerve so soon? Damn, I seem to be on a roll today. She still can't look me in the face, but eventually, she stops fidgeting with the fire and chances a glance up at me. "I do not know, but I am told it is painless."
If the way her chest fills out the front of her dress is any indication, I'd say she's definitely more woman than girl. But what the hell do I know—maybe she's just an early bloomer. I can't help but ask though, "Why haven't you shed yours yet?" There it is again: another long awkward pause where she can't even look at me, and I'm starting to think from now on, antlers are an off-limits topic.
The flush has spread down to her neck now and she clears her throat. "Because I have yet to mate."
Shit. That was way too personal. My mouth opens, then closes, trying to form some sort of an apology. I just stare at her as the seconds draw out into minutes. Damn my curiosity, I'm such an idiot! Here she is, taking me in and providing shelter, and how do I repay her? By embarrassing her of course, even if it was unintentional. "I'm so sorry, I—I didn't mean to, uh, offend you." I should really change the subject and save us both any further humiliation.
She does the honor for me and focuses her attention back on her bowl of paste. Scooping out a handful, she forms it into a thin patty before slapping it onto the now hot stone in the fire. It sizzles for a few seconds before she adds another and another until the stone is almost completely covered.
Wiping her hands on the floor, she finally looks over at me. "When I found you, you had only that," she says, pointing to my sleeping bag on the floor. "It does not look very warm. Your POD fell in Erimos, did it not? How did you survive?"
"My suit," I say, outstretching my arms for her to see. "It keeps me warm."
She inches a bit closer, reaching out but not quite touching my arm. "It is warm. Is it magic?"
Chuckling, I point to the screen embedded on my forearm. "No, but I really couldn't tell you how it works. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep during thermodynamics." She gives me a curious look, but I shake my head. "Never mind."
Glancing around the interior of the cave again, I notice a pile of furs on the floor towards the back. Must be her bed. And a comfy looking one at that. Then I remember the noise we heard out where she found me. She said she wasn't the only hunter, so I'm guessing it's safe to say that around here, some pretty mean creatures are lurking at the top of the food chain. Better to find out now what I'm dealing with, in case her hospitality comes with an expiration date.
"Your fur," I say, pointing towards her discarded cape on the floor. "What is that from?"
"My father."
I quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps she didn't understand my question. "I meant, what kind of animal was it? Not who gave it to you."
"I am wearing my father's hide."
As if what she's just said is a perfectly acceptable explanation, she calmly reaches over and using a piece of wood, flips over the sizzling bread patties. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end as I gape at her, utterly speechless.
"When it is time for my people to join the spirit world," she continues, "they disappear into the mountains where the transformation takes place and our bodies return to the true form of our ancestors. After they have passed, their flesh nourishes us and we remove their hides as a token so they will always remain with us."
I need a moment to process what it is she's saying exactly, but no matter how I spin it in my head, these people eat their dead family. And wear their skins to boot. Shit, that's morbid. What kind of a messed up, barbaric planet did I drop onto? My eyes dart to my pack, ready to bolt.
Katniss bursts out laughing, the melodic yet raspy tenor of her voice indicating that it's not a common occurrence. "Oh, my Peeta, I thought you liked to laugh?"
"Wait…are you joking?" It doesn't slip by me that she's called me "hers," but I'm not about to correct her semantics, not when she's smiling and laughing like I've just made her day.
"I do not know what joking is, but this," she says, lifting the fur off the ground and spreading it over her crossed legs, "is not my father. He was a great hunter and this is the fur of the great ursid that attacked him. He took it down with no more than a blade and his fists."
"An ursid?"
Forming claws with her hands, Katniss mimics a low roar that rumbles from her throat. My confusion must be evident since she picks up her arrow once again and starts drawing something on the floor. "A large creature that lives in this part of the land. They are not skilled hunters but will attack if you come too close to their home."
Glancing down at her sketch, it looks a lot like a bear but with a longer snout and tail, similar to a wolf. I'm not sure if the long claws are an exaggeration, but if her father was able to take that mean looking thing down with a knife and his bare hands? I'd never stand a chance. "I don't think I'd like to meet one of those."
She nods, still chuckling to herself as she quickly flicks the now crispy bread off the hot stone. Once cooled, she picks one up, and holding it out, offers it to me. "Eat."
Curious, I take it from her, blowing across the surface before taking a bite. The outside is crunchy, the inside dense and surprisingly moist. Not bad really, and it sure beats those protein bars. Smiling, I finish chewing and swallow. "Thank you," I say as she digs into one herself. "It's good."
Three bites later it's all gone, and she offers me another, but I politely decline. I'm not quite sure how my stomach will react to the new food, so better to play it safe and hold off until it adjusts.
Rising to her feet, Katniss works her fingers through the braid slung over her shoulder, her freed hair falling into loose waves. "Enough talk for tonight. It is time for sleep."
After barely any sleep over the past 48 hours, I can't argue with that. I'm finally able to relax a bit more knowing that I'll be spending the night up here. My adrenaline high has come and gone, and so it's only a matter of time before my body crashes. Using my sleeping bag as a mattress, I stretch out my legs and roll onto my back, lacing my fingers behind my head to form a pillow with my palms. I close my eyes, listening for a moment as Katniss shuffles about on the other side of the fire. Something lands at my head and I startle. Reaching up, I find it's a fur, soft and supple beneath my fingers.
"Thank you," I call out, folding it into a makeshift pillow as I settle back down. But then I laugh quietly, and can't seem to help myself. "Should I ask who I have the pleasure of sleeping on tonight? A distant relative I hope."
Katniss snorts and I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. "Sleep."
My eyes fall shut again, but my mind is still racing as I go over the events of the past 24 hours. What will happen tomorrow? Will she send me packing to survive on my own? Where will I go? Maybe she'll want me to stay, but is that a good idea? What about the rest of her people? What about mine? And the other tributes? Did any of them make it?
I recall something Professor Heavensbee once mentioned, about how creatures that adapt the best to their environment and circumstances have the greatest chance of survival. If the rest of my people were to come here, would we be able to adapt? Would we be able to survive this place without help from Katniss and her people?
Probably not, at first. And I consider myself quite an optimistic person. Hundreds of years living aboard ships have put us at a disadvantage. Our first ancestors who left Earth possessed the necessary survival skills that we now have only studied in theory. If we are to survive, we'll have to adapt and fast.
With all these thoughts and questions swirling around inside my head, how am I supposed to sleep now?
The silence of the cave fills with a wordless tune as Katniss begins to hum, the sultry notes unlike anything I've heard. And before I know it, I drift off to sleep.
Author's Note: This story has been in the works for quite some time so I'm thrilled to finally be posting the first chapter! It's my first attempt at the fantasy/sci-fi genre, so I hope you enjoyed it. It was lots of fun to create and write, and thought I'd share a few fun facts I learned during my research:
- Of all the deer species, female reindeer are the only ones who have antlers and shed them. The males (who use theirs to fight over females) shed in early winter after mating season while the females (who use theirs to defend their food and territory) shed theirs in the spring.
- You'll find that a lot of Katniss's culture is based on that of early Native Americans, with a few twists here and there of course. As for language, I borrowed a bit from the Latin names of things and even dabbled in some Greek mythology at times, so I've decided to italicize these words throughout this story to indicate which words Peeta wouldn't understand since they would have evolved independently on Katniss's planet.
A huge thanks to court81981 and ct522 (Titania522) for their beta expertise and encouragement during the lonely writing process, and to HGRomance (andshewaits) for her sage advice and feedback which helped mold this to what it is now. These ladies are all such talented authors who I admire and am honored to call friends. And of course, this story wouldn't exist if it wasn't for loving-mellark who provided me with the spark and encouragement to tackle this plot bunny. Thank you so much for the gorgeous banner and for being such a wonderful friend! I'd also encourage you to check out the lovely piece of artwork called "It's Love" by Tannany over on DeviantArt where inspiration for this story started!
I'd love to hear your thoughts! Reviews and feedback are always welcome! Thanks for taking the time to read and hope you enjoy this one!
As always, you can find me over on tumblr: pookieh