AN: Reuploaded because of several major grammatical errors. Seriously, please let me know what you think either by follow/favoriting or reviewing.
morning sunlight filters through my window and my eyes open. I feel refreshed, and though my nightmare about Marius unhinges me somewhat, I am in good condition, though I seem to have slept wrongly on my right arm as it throbs mildly. A simple cotton shirt, pants and some black leather boots have been set out for today's outfit so I go into the bathroom to shower and change into them. I expected a simple water faucet and hose, but of course everything's so sophisticated that it takes me several minutes to get acquainted with all the available settings. The shower controls are operated using a waterproof touchscreen that allows you to set everything from the pressure of the water to the scent of the shampoo and soap used. I quickly select the options that sound the most appealing and sit up to my neck in scalding hot water and bubbles, feeling the throb slowly recede from my right arm.
I cling to that feeling of solace long after I've convinced myself to emerge from the tub and open the drain, which greedily slurps down the water. It reminds me painfully of Trilla, who was always more enthusiastic about drinking than eating. She had always been wary of what I was feeding her, but I had no more information than her about what was in it. In fact I probably had less, because I never ate it.
The hallway is empty, but Jill's door is open, so she's probably already at breakfast. When I arrive, she is just placing her platter on the table. She's wearing a plain shift of cotton, the same material as my shirt, and a pair of leather work boots. Our mentors, Bessie and Tyson, are also present. I quickly serve myself some eggs and bacon and a glass of apple juice to drink. I don't think I've ever seen a real apple, nor have I drank its juice. It rushes down my throat and I can only compare it to the way leather balls roll down the steep cliffs that mark the edge of the ranging grounds. The eggs, which have been treated with several different seasoning herbs, are fluffy, with just the perfect consistency that they can still be bitten without difficulty while keeping their shape. Breakfasts like this were unheard-of at home, even though breakfast was the most important, and therefore biggest, meal of the day. Cowherds and slaughterhouse workers both needed that initial core of stamina to be able to get the day's work done efficiently and often had to delay or skip afternoon or evening meals depending on the needs of the cattle or the looming deadline of production quotas.
"Ah, good, we're all here," says Tyson. "I was just about to send an avocs to yell at you to wake up." He then laughs bitterly at his little joke, but the rest of us stare uncomfortably at the table. "Training's starting today. Not that it'll help you, because you only have three days. Still, better than nothing I guess. They have both combat and survival skill stations in the training center. If I thought you'd listen to me, I'd advise you to ignore the cornucopia and run for the wilderness, which would mean focusing on the survival. But no one ever does, so do whatever."
"And remember," Bessie says, wagging a finger at us. "Don't show the others what you're good at. You don't want to give that away. Try and spend these next three days learning something new that you might actually use. They have a knot-tying station in the survival area, where you can learn to set up snares. The problem with snares is that you need to set up more than one to have a good chance at actually trapping something. So unless you're already pretty good at knots, don't waste your time there. Learn to build a fire without matches, about edible plants. A fair amount of tributes have died over the years by picking the wrong kind of plant because it just looked like a safe one they new from home. The games don't work that way. Training starts at 10 so you have about 35 minutes before it starts."
The training arena is below the residential floors, so we take the elevator down there. Jewel tells us that escorts and mentors are not allowed in the training arena and points us toward the elevator around 10:50 before disappearing into an ajacent elevator. The tributes from District 11 are with us also. Thresh's eyes fix on me, but he remains silent. Finally, I ask him, "What?"
"This afternoon," he says. His voice is surprisingly quiet for his size. I glance questioningly back at him, but he does not elaborate, and the elevator is slowing down. The doors slide open and we walk through a set of double doors into a room the size of several barns combined. Straw likenesses of humans and large multicolored round cylinders have been placed on one side of the room. On the opposite side I notice some fake trees to practice climbing, an obstacle course for agility tuning, a table that is piled high with ropes, and an area with various labeled cans that probably contain paints or dies.
The career tributes are already there, messing around with the training weapons or actually sparring with the training staff. As the minute hand on the clock moves toward 12, more tributes trickle in, staring around and trying to comprehend their options. The tributes from 12 appear last, out of breath from running I suppose, and holding hands as if they haven't let go since the start of the chariot races. Thresh, the careers and a few others stare daggers at them. Without their flaming costumes on, they're just kids that will soon die, and that is a great equalizer.
The instant the minute hand hits 12, a no-nonsense woman steps into the center of the room and addresses us. Her name is atala and she and a few others will be making sure that training operates smoothly. There are two major sections, combat and survival, both of which are important in the games. We may go where we wish among the stations, but we can't leave the training center until we are dismissed for lunch. Tributes may not attack each other, but extra training staff are available at all the combat stations in case a tribute wants to practice with a partner. She ends by wishing us good luck, then leaves us to train.
The careers continue showing off while the rest of us try to ignore them to learn something new. Katniss and her partner visit knot-tying while Jill heads for the knives. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rue and Stara heading for edible plants, a smart move considering they would probably not last long in a real melee; focusing on learning to survive and conceal oneself will be key for them.
I decide to visit the obstacle course. I climb up a ladder to the launch point where a woman is waiting with a small necklace which she gives me. It is apparently a timing device that is remotely started when I take my first step onto the course, and stopped when I touch the finish line. The next few minutes are occupied with running up spiraling flights of stairs, climbing hand-over-hand on poles, jumping over pits, vaulting over another pit with an overhead rope and more, all while being harried by training assistants wielding soft light pillows as clubs. If I dawdled in one place too long, whether I'd fallen into a pit and had to climb out, or was bracing myself to use the rope swing, the clubs were there to hurry me along. I finally exit the course, my breath coming a little faster than usual. There's a screen that has a list of all attempts in the last half hour, and I see that of the four tributes that have tried it, my time is bested only by Marvel. I can't think of who that is for a second, then i remember that he was decked out in pricey-looking jewels during the chariot races, so he must have been from district 1.
A few people are busy poking around with training spears when I get to the station. I didn't know what weapon I would try to learn, but a spear looked as close to a cattle prod as I would get here, so I'm going for it. The two tributes from 6 can barely lift the spears they've selected, and finally they manage to lift a single one between them. They obviously didn't read the weight signs listed; it looks like they picked up a 7-pound spear, the heaviest available. I grab a 4-pound spear, testing the balance of the weapon, a six foot long pole that connects to an iron point on the other end. It's a simple weapon, but deadly, and the range advantage is slightly reassuring. The instructor shows us some of the basic moves and I copy them clumsily, realizing just how much of a disadvantage I have against the careers. After a half hour or so of drilling, we're told to practice hitting the training dummies with our spears. It's harder than it looks.
During a break in the drills I notice Katniss and her district partner loitering at the camouflage station, the one that has the various leaves, paints and dyes. Her partner is busy daubing his right arm with the stuff, while she just looks on in wonder. When he's done, I'm impressed to see that he's patterned his arm to mimic the various hues of sunlight on a clear day, just as the sun has begun to set. The image reminds me of many days I'd spent, bonding with the cows.
The cow flops down, sides heaving after a long run around the ranging grounds. He's old and his mate is dead, but I still make sure that he, along with the other cows, get their exercise. He appreciates the work, even if it tires him out more quickly than it did when he was young. I sit alongside him, patting the rough back, my fingers lovingly caressing his short, unyielding horns. I can just see the bulge of two of his stomachs protruding from the ground. I realize that I'm even more winded than he is; my left leg is still recovering from that terrible accident.
After catching his breath for a few minutes, he's up and bounding away again. I climb to my feet, grunting with the exertion, and set off after him. He keeps wanting to go past the boundaries of the ranging ground into the neighbor's area. I have to keep blocking his way before he gets the hint and turns left to continue circling the boundary. A few minutes later he does it again, and I realize that I don't know what's on this side, because it's directly behind the barn, and the other cows always travel away from the barn. I continue to run even though my leg throbs with real pain now, curiosity lending me endurance. We stop short at a hedge made of the branches of trees they are blocking. The hedge stretches uninterrupted for a full 100 feet to my left, and the huge ranching ground partition wall hems me in on the right. Now truly interested, I lead him to the left until we see a steep stone shelf that extends over the top of the hedge. But I'm so tired now that I have to head home. We'll have to continue exploring tomorrow. As I sit down to rest before the journey back, the sun peeks out from miniscule gaps in the hedge, in myriad shades of yellow and orange. And I tell the cow beside me, "you are a natural explorer, and will make one out of me, Old Boone."