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KNIVES
(Day 3 - Evening)
Are all woods this noisy? Every snap and rustle in the trees catches Jack's ear as they tramp along. His boots are soaked from wading through the little streams that ripple through the mountain rocks; but Merida claims it'll break up their scent trail, if there are more Mutts out there.
By the time they stop for the night, Jack is too tired to put up more than a token protest when Emma volunteers to gather branches again. He settles against the base of a tree with a groan. Have his feet ever been this sore?
Merida has found a needle and thread somewhere in one of their packs, and is stubbornly stitching up a long rip in her trouser leg. She hasn't complained once since they pulled her out of those brambles.
"You're really…used to all this, aren't you?" Jack says, waving a hand around them. "The walking, the woods…"
Merida snorts a laugh as she ties off her row of wobbly stitches.
"Aye, it's just like home," she says, grimly, and bites the thread in two. "If ye don't count the murderous beasties and all." Her fair skin is scratched and smeared with dried blood. Setting aside her needle, she rubs her shoulder and winces.
"Hey," Jack says. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"We're lucky to be alive," she murmurs. "This morning was a hash, and no mistake." There are shadows like bruises under her eyes. She bites her lip, then says, "Ye need weapons. Both of ye. Real ones, not sticks and stones."
Jack's stomach twists. "No!" he blurts. Merida flinches, and he quickly lowers his voice. "We can't give Emma a weapon," he argues, urgent and soft. "It'll make her a threat, a - a target."
"She's already a target," Merida points out.
"She hasn't got any training!"
"Then we'll train her!" Merida says, as if training his baby sister to kill is the most sensible thing in the world. As if he didn't swear to protect her.
He must be making a hell of a face, because Merida's eyes soften. "She's a natural fighter, Jack, and a quick learner," she says, as if this is supposed to make him feel better. "Ye both are. Ye held your own against those Mutts, with naught but rocks and a stick." She reaches out to pat his shoulder.
Jack jerks away from her hand. "She's just a kid!" he snaps.
"Aye, she is!" The exhaustion in Merida's eyes suddenly ignites into snapping blue anger. She slashes one hand through the air in a harsh gesture - at her own chest, at his. "And so are we, but we cannae be kids anymore and live, Jack! I cannae fight for the three of us! It's too much for me! Sooner or later I'll slip, and - "
"Jack? Meri?"
The small, worried voice strikes them both silent. Emma takes a hesitant step toward them, her arms full of pine branches. There's something silvery in her hand.
"Don't shout," she whispers. "They'll hear you."
Jack moves to take some of his sister's load of branches. "Sorry, Em," he says, shamefaced. "We were just…talking strategy. What've you got there?"
Wordlessly, Emma unfolds the silvery cloth and holds it out.
It's a parachute. There are three small knives inside, slim and shining.
"Oh," Jack says, and is surprised when his voice doesn't tremble. He'd been wondering when those were going to start.
"It just floated down, a minute ago," his sister says. "I…I think they're for me."
Merida picks one up, turns it over to inspect it. "This is good steel," she says. "They could save your life in a pinch."
"Can you teach me how to throw them?" Emma asks.
"Aye, if ye like," Merida replies, but she glances uncertainly at Jack.
There's a high, tight lump in Jack's throat. He swallows, hard, but it doesn't get any easier to breathe. Can he really put a knife in his sister's hand, if it keeps someone else from putting a knife in her heart? Bloodying her hands is no guarantee of survival here; but Merida is right.
She may not live as a lion, but she'll die as a lamb. And he can't let that happen. He just…can't.
"If that's what you want, Em," he says, quietly. "I'll be proud of you, no matter what."
The parachute clangs a pure metallic note, as Emma tosses it to the ground and launches herself into his arms. Jack sputters in surprise as his baby sister buries her face in his shoulder as if she was five again. Her hair still smells faintly of Capitol shampoo, apple-sweet.
"Thank you," she whispers, and hugs him tight. "But…what are you going to use?"
"Aw, I'll be fine," he says. "I think there's a camping knife in my pack."
Merida wrinkles her nose. "No offense, Jack, but I don't think ye'd last long at close quarters. Not with a camping knife, at any rate."
"What if we tied it to his staff?" Emma muses. "Then he could use it like a spear…"
"Canny lass!" Merida exclaims, with an approving grin. "That's a fine idea." Emma blushes at the praise.
She's a smart girl, Jack reminds himself. She has a chance.
He just hopes he isn't making a mistake.