Woof Howell, District 8
"I became your statue, frozen
Sometimes I wonder, are we just a puff of smoke?"
Cage the Elephant, Ready to Let Go
The thing about the Hunger Games was how long they were.
Maybe I was being unfair. But when I volunteered, I expected a glorious battle to the death with an equally strong opponent (preferrably my district partner), not endless days climbing up and down mountain sides in the freezing snow, looking for two measley outliers who were only alive because they were from northern districts so they could take the cold and knew how to hide. The girl from Three we found on the 15th day in the Arena. She was half frozen and didn't even put up a fight. Domitian took almost two hours to torture the life out of her before I told him he'd had enough. All that left was the boy from eight.
That night, I realized that there really were only three tributes left in the Arena. Me, my district partner, Domitian, and one tiny outlier who would probably be dead in a day. I really could go home. See my family again. Be rich and famous like Beatrix Carmen and Orion Rossi, and never have to want for anything for the rest of my life.
Or worry about anything. Not my mother, with her drunken furies, or the important Capitol men who came and gave her long letters that always left her reaching for another bottle. If I won, I could pay for real treatment to get her off that stuff, and we could be a real family again.
All those dreams were shattered at two o'clock the next morning when an avalanche got Domitian and I moving. Those damn Gamemakers really couldn't give us a moments peace.
We sprinted down the mountain, headed for the Cornucopia. So far we'd avoided the place, the twelve bodies there kinda gave us the creeps, plus they'd started to smell. But in the distance we could see what we'd been hoping for for the last two weeks.
A boy sprinting down the mountainside.
We each grabbed our weapons. It was obvious what was coming. The kid, Woody or whatever his name was, wouldn't go down without a fight. But he'd be easy. I turned to Domitian.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," I said. He frowned.
"But- Estella- there's a-"
He never finished his sentence before my knife punctured his throat. He collapsed to the snow, choking on his own blood. Shoving down the furious look I know Orion would have for murdering his tribute, I pulled out two more knives and sprinted down the hill towards the massive golden horn. I saw the boy (Wallace?) duck behind the cornucopia, and, expecting him to do exactly that, I whipped around the side and threw my knife.
It hit the snow. The boy was nowhere to be seen.
I looked around, mystified. He was just there! How was it-
I looked up and saw a form just quickly dart out of sight. I sighed, pulled my knife out of the ground, and sprinted into the cornucopia in pursuit of the boy (maybe it was Will?).
The inside was dark, but not impossible to see. I cautiously peeked over crates to see where the boy had gone, but there was no sign of him.
I turned back, sighing, just about to leave the horn to continue my pursuit when a form rose up out of the ground itself. He raised a small knife, exactly like another boy from eight had done five years before, and brought the knife down.
The cannon sounded a second later and Woof Howell emerged victorious.
Here we go, third canon victor! I didn't want to do too much with Woof because he was canon so there wasn't much room to breathe, plus I didn't want to mess anything up, but I liked how he turned out. A lot of other stories have portrayed him as a bit crazy, but I liked thinking of him as just another outlier who got lucky against the careers, possibly the first one. Next up is a victor who's gotten a fair few mentions before, but we haven't seen much of. That won't last long, however, as many will, well, you'll see.