Valerie Fallow
The bow I rigged together out of a stick and a vine wasn't good for much. I wasn't a good shot and the bow wasn't powerful enough to penetrate much more than a leaf. I had more luck with the arrows I sharpened out of some sticks. I couldn't shoot them, but I could still stab things with them. I didn't need much power to skewer the wiggly wet mudskippers that slogged around at the edge of the water. They tasted muddy and wet, even when Aspen and I roasted them over a fire, but they weren't awful.
I was hunting when I heard the fight. I ran back as fast as I could, and whoever was thre heard me splashing. I got to Aspen and saw Harvey running off, leaving a trail of blood. Aspen wasn't unharmed either. He had a big cut all down his side, and I could only imagine how quickly it would get infected around here. My first aid training was about to get the ultimate test.
I washed and bandaged the wound as best I could with our purified water and some gauze from our supplies. It didn't look like it would kill Aspen on its own-it wasn't much more than a superficial cut. It was what would come next that would do the real damage, and my skills and supplies probably wouldn't be enough.
Aspen didn't let the cut get him down. He kept joking and clowning around like nothing had happened. It was harder for him to move, and then the area grew stiff. I started doing more of the hunting and water gathering and told him to stay still so he wouldn't reopen the wound. Then it turned red and puffy. He kept itching at it and smearing blood across himself. I would wash him and he'd joke that I just wanted to get his clothes off.
After a week, it didn't look good. The skin on his side was white until it got to the cut. Then it was red and translucent. I could see the pus under the skin and drained it daily. Instead of scarring over like I'd hoped, the flesh grew weak and moist. I could tell it hurt Aspen terribly, even though he kept smiling. Ominous red lines inched up his side like death's fingers. I knew what happened when those lines went too far, but there was nothing I could do. All I had to work with were bandages, water, and any plants I could find in the Arena. I should have tried to cauterize the wound, but I'd been afraid I'd do it wrong and hurt him more. It was too advanced now.
He grew delirious. It was sickening to see him muttering and pulling at his bandages. Blood, mud and pus were smeared all across him, and as soon as I cleaned him off, he smeared it back on. It was only luck that he whispered instead of screaming. Sometimes he chuckled, like he'd made some joke I couldn't hear. We were huddled in a nest of roots under one of the trees, where no one could see us. But no one had to see Aspen for him to die.
I'd lost count of the cannons a few days back. Every minute was spent trying to get Aspen to drink and trying desperately to think of anything else I could do. He was burning with fever and he glistened with sweat his body couldn't afford to lose. I splashed him with cool water and kept draining the pus as fast as it could come back.
Two cannons came, right after each other. Aspen was sleeping, and they didn't wake him up. I could feel the heat radiating off of him in our nest. He reeked of filth and waste, and I worried I wasn't moving him enough to ward off pressure sores. Another cannon rang out. The Anthem blared suddenly in my ears, and I bumped my head on a root when I jumped.
"Presenting the winner of the twenty-fourth Hunger Games!" Polyphemus' voice came. I looked at Aspen and my heart froze. He wasn't burning up any more.