Lane Freely, 17.
District 7 Male.


Lane reached out, gripping tightly onto his friend's slippery hand as he tried to pull her onto the shore. A grunt escaped his lips as he hauled Haylie up.

"Thanks, Lane. Did Barry get the gates closed?" Haylie asked, turning to look further down the river.

"Yeah, looks like it," Lane replied, looking towards the large, barred gates that blocked the flow of the logs, their conversation underscored by the sound of water trickling through a small gap underneath them. "Let's get out of here, you're soaking wet."

"I'm well aware that I'm soaking wet. It's freezing cold out here," Haylie responded, pulling her arms tightly around herself. She'd had to go into the water to push the last few logs of wood towards the collection area, which was an unfortunate but not uncommon occurrence.

"Did ya bring a spare set of clothes?"

"Yeah, 'course I did, what do I look like, an idiot?"

"Just makin' sure," Lane replied as they walked further. They quickly closed the distance between themselves and the buildings up ahead, the gravel beneath their feet crunching with each step. Soon enough they came up to the gates and the small booth which contained the controls for them. Lane poked his head through the door, being met with the sight of his friend and third crewmate, Barry, hunched over at the controls. They always worked in trios at the lumber yard, whether it be trios who got the logs down the river, or trios like theirs who manned the gate. It was mostly for safety, as there was always somebody to watch the backs of the others, spot them as they dragged logs from the river; that was Lane's job, which he quite enjoyed. The second member of the team was the actual log runner, who hopped across the logs to unstick them. Lane was certainly glad he didn't have that job; he was far too tall and slow to ever be somewhat decent at that. And as his group manned the gate, the third would work behind the controls, keeping track of the machinery.

"Barry, c'mon, it's time to go," Lane murmured, reaching over to tap his friend on the back. Barry straightened up, as if startled, turning to Lane.

"Huh - what's going on?" Barry muttered, rubbing his eyes blearily.

"It's the end of our shift," Lane repeated.

"Oh, good, I was falling asleep," Barry replied, yawning and stretching as he stood, nearly knocking over the small wooden stool he'd been sitting on moments before. Haylie snorted as Barry righted himself, brushing himself off like nothing had just happened, and the trio headed out together, as they never worked without each other. It was safer that way, and less lonely; Lane certainly didn't mind the company.

"We need to pick up our pay before we go," Haylie piped up as they walked towards the larger cluster of buildings.

"It's payday? Hell yeah!" Barry exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together.

"Yes it is, Barry, what did you think it was, just another Tuesday?" Haylie retorted.

"I'm sorry, days are hard!" Barry replied, wrapping an arm around Haylie's shoulders, shaking her back and forth. Haylie looked about ready to rip off Barry's head, as per usual.

"Okay, how about you go get your change of clothes and we go get our pay?" Lane suggested, gesturing first to Haylie and then to Barry. The two nodded as Haylie shrugged Barry's arm off, giving the boys a wave as she split off from the group to head to the building where they kept their things.

"What?" Barry asked as they turned to walk towards the office, which was in a small cabin alongside the river.

"Smarten up, doofus, you know she doesn't like that shit," Lane whispered, as he didn't exactly want Haylie to overhear despite the growing distance between them. No matter how many times Lane had explained to Barry that Haylie didn't feel the same way about him that he felt about her, Barry never seemed to get it.

"I know, I know," Barry muttered, waving Lane off.

"Are you trying to get your head ripped off?" Lane scoffed at Barry's dismissiveness.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't be averse to that-"

"You know what, don't answer that, let's just get our money and get the hell out of here," Lane sighed as they approached the stairs which led up into the cabin. Standing near the stairs was another trio of loggers. They appeared to be arguing over something, the small girl lecturing the two much taller boys who stood with her. Lane didn't recognize the group, but then again there were so many trios that all worked along the river that he couldn't possibly know every single one of them. Even so, Lane barely branched out from his own trio. They were comfortable, familiar, and if he didn't have to interact with new people, then he wouldn't.

The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet as they stepped onto the cabin's small porch. Barry pulled the wooden door open, its hinges groaning loudly, announcing their arrival to everyone in the vicinity. Lane ducked through the doorway, as it was too small for his tall frame to fit through comfortably. The inside of the building was musty, particles of dust floating in the sunlight which streamed through the window panes, casting squares of warm light in square patterns onto the floor.

"You two here for pay?" a man seated behind a large wooden desk nearby called to them gruffly.

"Yes sir, we are," Barry replied, sauntering up to the desk. Lane trailed after him, perfectly okay with letting the more outgoing boy do the talking.

"What's your classification?"

"Group AT2," Barry stated. The man picked up a pile of papers from the desk, flipping through them until he found theirs. Lane watched as he pulled out a set of keys and unlocked one of the drawers in the desk. The man pulled out an envelope from within and slid it across the desk to Barry.

"Thank you, kind sir, we'll be off now!" Barry chirped, before Lane grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, walking him to the door. Lane pulled the door open, its hinges groaning again, and he let Barry go through first before following him out onto the porch.

"I don't even know why I let you talk," Lane grumbled, cuffing Barry across the back of his head gently.

"I'm charming, obviously, and I know you don't want to do the talking," Barry replied with a large grin, "Besides that, I've gotten you out of plenty of situations with the Peacekeepers,"

"And I've got you out of plenty just the same!" Lane pushed back. Indeed, they had gotten each other out of plenty of bad situations. Barry had a tendency to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and Lane wasn't always the calmest of people. But those two traits also worked to their advantage, as Barry was quite proficient at talking his way out of situations, and Lane was quite intimidating thanks to his six foot eight stature. Despite its usefulness, Lane didn't much like to think about the seething rage; sure, it most often sat dormant within him, yet it would occasionally rear its ugly head. Lane wished he could simply cut that part of himself out. It was one of the few things that remained of his father in his life, and it was the only thing that would never truly leave him.

"Alright, let's get the hell out of here," the now-dry Haylie called to them, flagging them down as they turned off the stairs.

And so they did, walking together past other trios of workers towards the dirt road that would take them back to town. Lane didn't particularly mind going home each night; although there wasn't ever much for him there, at least he had something to come home to. He would return to his scarred mother, who was somehow still able to love him and his brothers despite her bruised and battered soul. And his brothers, Chris and Remmy, despite their constant fighting and bickering, were always happy to see Lane come home, which warmed his heart. Everything that Lane had ever done, he'd done to protect his family.

And Lane would do it all again if he had to.


Morrigan "Mor" Meadowlark, 16.
District 7 Female.


Morrigan Meadowlark had never been one to rely on others. All her life, she'd stood against the world alone.

And that would certainly not change anytime soon.

"Mor!" A familiar voice called through the trees, barely audible over the rushing river nearby. Mor straightened up from her crouched position, looking around as she stretched.

"Brecken? What's going on?" Mor replied as one of her teammates - for lack of a better term - appeared from the treeline.

"The logs are stuck and Ronan can't move them. We need you to come help," Brecken said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Mor sighed as she gestured for Brecken to lead the way, which he did, his towering height making him an easy marker to follow. Mor was easily able to keep up with him, though; she had always been the shortest of the group by a great deal, so she'd gotten used to walking at double her usual speed to keep up with the boys. She could always ask them to slow down, yes, but there was no point to that.

"Why can't you just deal with it yourself? You're equally as capable as I am," Mor asked as they walked.

"Um... well... I think we both know I'm nowhere near as good as you at this," Brecken replied, ducking under a low-hanging tree branch after almost walking face-first into it. Mor knew objectively she was the best at her job, but that didn't mean she enjoyed doing it. It was dangerous and likely illegal for a 16-year-old girl to be out logging, but it paid the bills well enough, and she'd never gotten hurt doing it before. There was plenty on the line, but the benefits outweighed the risks.

Soon enough, Mor caught a glimpse of blonde hair flashing between the trees as Ronan appeared in front of them, soaking wet and covered in mud.

"Oh, good, you're here," Ronan said, offering a large grin, his teeth shining through the grime and dirt that coated him.

"You look like shit, what happened?" Mor asked as Ronan guided the trio towards the riverbank, the sound of rushing water intensifying from a dull purr to an earsplitting roar. Mor had always been familiar with loud noise, whether it be crowds cheering raucously for blood or her father cheering her on at track practice as a kid. Here, though, there was no audience but the boys and the river itself; there was no pressure but the pressure to keep herself alive and safe.

But Mor didn't know a life without that pressure.

Mor had always had to fight for her life. She'd never know safety or security, only a desperate battle for survival, constantly having to ward off the depths of death which sought to claim her.

But Mor would not let them claim her.

"Where is it stuck?" Mor shouted, turning to Rowan as they approached the bank of the river. Floating on the rivers' surface were hundreds of logs, many of which had snagged on rocks and other debris which were under the surface of the water. When Ronan couldn't get them unstuck from the bank, it was up to Mor.

"Right over there, by those rocks," Ronan replied, pointing to an outcropping of rocks that broke through the rolling surface of the water. Indeed, it seemed as if a few logs had gotten caught against them, putting a cork in the movement of all the wood.

"Do you think you can make it?" Brecken called, his quiet voice not suited to trying to talk in such an environment.

Mor nodded stiffly as she pulled her jacket off, balling it up and tossing it to Brecken. "Hold this, I'll be right back," Mor said, before promptly launching herself off the bank. Her boots connected with one of the logs near the bank. As it began to roll, she quickly stepped onto the next one, and then the next, never faltering, never missing a beat in the delicate dance she performed so regularly.

Mor soon enough found herself perched on the outcropping of rocks, the frigid, crashing water soaking into her shirt as she crouched down, placing a hand against the rock beneath her feet to support herself. She took a second to analyze the backup of logs before finally spotting the log that had blocked everything up. Not wanting to take her hand off the rock, she lifted her leg and gave the log in question a swift kick with her heel. It moved slightly, and so Mor kicked it again, and then once more before it finally came loose. The logs began to flow again as Mor made her way back across them. It was always easier to get to the clog than to get back, and Mor knew better than to let her guard down in any capacity. Things were going well, until a log underfoot suddenly shifted, knocking Mor off-balance. She attempted to recover herself, but the venture was fruitless as she was sent crashing into the water below, just a few feet from shore.

The icy cold water sucked all of the air out of Mor's lungs, leaving her scrambling for breath. She tried to right herself, but in the dark water, she could barely tell which way was up and which was down. Mor's hand grasped onto something that felt like a wet log, but it was too slippery, and she quickly lost it. She didn't want to die here - in fact, she couldn't. If she died, who would provide for her family, after she'd been the one to ruin their income in the first place? It was the only thing she could think about, even as her vision was beginning to blur. She wondered how long she'd been under the water and how much time she had left. Was this where she died? Would this be the end of Morrigan Meadowlark, alone and unable to help her family out of the mess she'd created?

Suddenly, she felt a strong hand grab one of her arms. Mor couldn't help but feel a wave of relief as she felt herself being hauled from the water, the sunlight blinding her as she hit the rocky shore.

"Mor? Mor, can you hear me?" Brecken's voice called, shaking her by her shoulders as she coughed.

"Unfortunately, yes I can," Mor managed to squeeze out between coughs. She opened her eyes to see Brecken and Ronan both peering down at her, one on either side. Ronan tackled her in a hug as she began to sat down, knocking her back to the ground again,

"Get off me you oaf, I can't breathe," Mor growled, as Ronan quickly retracted.

"I'm just glad you're not dead!" Ronan said, grinning widely, "And all thanks to Brecken here too! Who could've imagined it!"

"Is that true?" Mor asked, turning to Brecken next to her.

"Um... I guess," Brecken replied, locking his eyes on the ground. There was a slight blush creeping onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, I see," Mor replied,

"We need to get going. Can you get up?" Ronan asked, standing and brushing the dirt off his pants before offering a hand out to Mor, "We don't want to be late or anything, that would cut our pay,."

"Yeah, I can stand, I'm fine," Mor replied, ignoring Ronan's offer for help as she dragged herself to her feet. She was dripping wet, cold, and generally miserable, but at least she was alive.

Brecken handed Mor her jacket (which was thankfully still dry) as the trio set off, following the river. She wasn't annoyed that Brecken had saved her, much the opposite; she was quite thankful for him, although she would never tell him that. Mor was annoyed because she couldn't get herself out of the situation. She didn't want to be a burden to those around her, nor did she want others to have to constantly pick her up. If she had to do that, then she was nothing but a weakling, somebody who would make it nowhere in the world. But could she rely on herself if she couldn't save herself?

"Look, there's the lumber mill there," Ronan said, pointing to the buildings which were beginning to come into view. Mor was quite pleased about this, as she was still soaking wet and cold, even shivering slightly in the spring air.

"Thank Snow," Mor muttered under her breath as they approached the cabin where they collected their pay. Distantly, Mor could hear the creaking of the water gates closing so they could pull all of the logs from the water.

"So who's going in to get our pay?" Ronan asked as the team all paused at the base of the steps.

"You do it. I'm soaking wet and Brecken would piss his pants over it," Mor replied, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders tighter.

"Me it is then!" Ronan replied, turning and retreating into the building. Mor stood silent and still next to Brecken, who looked like he wanted to say something. She suspected that her teammate held some sort of feelings toward her, as he'd always been very awkward around Mor. Or, at least more awkward than he usually was.

"You got somethin' to say?" Mor asked, turning and raising an eyebrow at the taller boy next to her.

"Oh, um... well you seem cold... uh... do you want my jacket?" Brecken replied sheepishly, picking at the collar of said jacket. Mor was cold, yes, but she didn't want to accept the offer from Brecken. If she was cold, then so be it. Mor would be fine.

"Oh, no, I'm not that cold, thanks," Mor replied, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of the jacket she had on. Brecken's face went a particularly bright shade of red. The pair continued standing in awkward silence as they waited for Ronan to return, Mor shifting on her feet to keep warm. She could have sworn the awkward tension was making the air cooler.

Thankfully, Ronan soon returned triumphant, envelope in hand. "Look what I've got," Ronan said, holding the envelope up as he stomped down the wooden stairs.

"How much is there?" Brecken asked as the trio crowded around, watching as Ronan pulled out a large stack of cash.

"More than usual. I guess nearly drowning is good enough reason for a bonus," Ronan said, flipping through the bills in his hand. He sorted the wad of cash into three, handing Mor the largest of the stacks.

"Huh? No, split it up even, Ronan," Mor insisted, pulling a few of the bills off the top and holding them out to Ronan.

"You almost died, you hardass. Just take the money! You're the reason we get the bonus in the first place so you get to take it," Ronan replied, pushing her hand away.

"Tell him, Breck," Mor said, turning to the third member of their team for backup. Brecken shrugged, indifferent about the whole situation.

"We're splitting the bonus, that's final, or else I'm beating your ass, Ronan."

"Okay, okay, fine there's no need to do that," Ronan said, taking the bills from Mor quickly, splitting them up and passing them out between the trio. Mor nodded, satisfied, as she stuffed the money into her pocket.

"Let's get the hell out of here, I'm freezing my dick and balls off," Mor grumbled, and the boys nodded their agreement. The trio set off, following the dirt road which would take them back to town.

"What are you two doing tonight? We should go out for drinks sometime you know?" Ronan chattered as they walked. Brecken shrugged, mumbling something about not doing anything, which didn't surprise Mor; the boy had a schedule about as interesting as a wet paper bag.

"Mor, what about you?" Ronan continued, turning around backwards as he walked to face the two who followed him.

"Nothing you need to know about," Mor replied. Mor was somewhat fond of her team, although she would never let them know this; they all worked together surprisingly well despite the fact that Mor didn't particularly enjoy working with others. Her job made her good money, and despite not wanting to rely on the boys, she knew she could if she needed to; today only proved this to her more, although she would never let her guard down regardless.

"Come on, you two are so boring. You know what I'm doing? I'm gonna go down to the fighting pit and see if I can place a few bets," Ronan said as he continued walking backwards.

The fighting pit was not somewhere Mor had been in a long time - well over a year in fact, maybe two by that point. She'd once been at the top of the rankings, as her father had trained her, turning into a prized fighter for his own profit. In fact, it was at the fighting pits where she'd originally met Ronan. Once he figured out they went to school together he'd tracked her down and befriended her - or, more correctly, he followed her around like a lost puppy until she relented. And Mor was glad that she'd relented to Ronan, as it had gotten her here; without Ronan and Brecken, she and her family would be far worse off.

But she knew that the fighting pits were not a place she could ever return, not after Mor had ruined one of the most prestigious fighters in the club, snapping his leg clean in two. The other fighter's management didn't take this very well apparently, as on their way home following the fight, Mor and her father were attacked. Their attackers broke her fathers leg in retribution, subsequently crippling him, and told her to never return, or else there would be worse consequences. But at the very least, Mor could be glad she'd relented to Ronan, as it had gotten her here, to her job at the lumber mill and a way to provide for her family.

"Fighting pits? Really, Ronan, I thought you'd stopped going there a long time ago," Brecken said, casting a worried look at Ronan.

"It's fine, I won't be fighting. And besides, how dangerous could placing a few bets be?" Ronan replied, holding his hands up.

"You still training, Ronan?" Mor piped up, interrupting the pair's conversation.

"Not as much, why?"

"Well, if you can still fight, then you won't be in danger."

"That is true, I did win all my fights. Except for one."

"Yeah, you only ever lost to me."

"And I continue to lose to you," Ronan said with a snort. It was true; he'd never beaten Mor in a fight despite their numerous rematches, and Mor knew he never would.

"Don't even think about getting into it again, you two," Brecken said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. But his words would have no effect on his friends, as they'd already squared up, facing each other. This wasn't exactly rare; the two had this exact same conversation about every three months. And every single time the same thing happened; Ronan would get too cocky, they'd fight, and Ronan would end up with his ass in the dirt. He simply never learned, but Mor didn't mind reteaching him this lesson. Fighting had always been fun to her and she did somewhat miss the pits, so she took any chance she got to take up the warrior mantle once again.

"C'mon, take a swing," Ronan taunted. Mor could feel a grin spreading across her face as Ronan got impatient, taking the first swing, which she easily ducked. She quickly latched onto his arm, and using his own momentum, she flipped him over her shoulder, sending Ronan flying into the dirt behind them. He lay on the ground for a few moments, groaning.

"This happens every single time, Ro. I don't know why you try," Mor said, grinning inwardly at her handiwork as she dusted her hands off.

"Come on, I know you like beating my ass," Ronan replied as Brecken helped him to his feet.

"You can't prove anything," Mor replied, the inward grin creeping onto her face ever so slightly, tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"She's smiling, do you see that shit, Breck? She's totally lying," Ronan screeched, roaring with laughter. Brecken shook his head as the trio continued on their way back to town, Ronan's booming laughter ringing throughout the forest surrounding them.

Despite what she felt, despite the fact Mor had to face the world standing alone, she would not trade her teammates for anything.