For those who cowered and crouched inside of their rooms throughout the duration of the bloodbath, oblivious to the unfortunate and bloody death of Varick Lamare, time seemed to pass at a supernaturally tedious rate. Some watched with crippling fear from the small opening that granted little freedom, unsure of what to do with themselves or why they had been placed into the death trap that is the arena. But for those like Darcy Retorre, those who were controlled by severe and spontaneous attacks of anxiety, those few minutes of confinement felt like hours of pure torture.
"Not again," The whisper was small and broken. Trembling hands fell from the hatch he had been frantically tugging on, palms now slashed and bleeding. Crystal tears trickled from the corners of his eyes, which darted in every which direction as if expecting to find an attacker crouched in the corner. He couldn't understand why this had happened. He couldn't have been taken again. He had been so careful.
"Mum," He sobbed, unable to form a coherent thought as his back pressed into the chilled wall behind him, chest heaving and knees threatening to buckle. Darcy felt as if he had a million eyes on him, watching from an unforeseen crevice, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
Unlike the other children who had been snatched from their homes and families and thrust into the arena against their will, Darcy was yet to peer through the hatch that had swung open minutes earlier. Instead, he had backed away and flung himself at a different metal door, an attempt at freedom doomed from the start.
His back slid down the wall and an agonizingly slow rate, until his butt was finally cushioned by the mountain of photographs that blanketed the floor. Darcy pulled his knees to his chest and hummed a weak tune, rocking back and forth with the hope that somebody would come to his rescue, an occurrence he knew was unlikely to happen twice.
His eyes continued their assault on the room, looking everywhere at once with the hope of sighting danger before it struck, which was why he so easily spotted the slight movement in the handle of the hatch on the left side of the room. Both his crying and heaving stopped as his body froze, eyes locked onto the hatch in horror as the wheel began to turn.
His eyes never strayed from attempting to look everywhere at once, which is why he so easily saw the slightest movement in the handle of the hatch on the left side of the room. His bodily instantly froze, watching the hatch in pure terror as the handle turns at an agonizingly slow rate.
Surprisingly, the boy stood, photos sliding around and falling at his feet. Darcy Retorre has been through this once before; he doesn't want to relive that experience. All he wants is to go home. Moving only by tip-toe, Darcy creeps over towards the hatch, standing right beside it with his back pressed up against the wall, breath held and trembles only washing over his body every few seconds rather than a constant quiver.
Finally, a soft click emits from the rusted handle of the hatch and the doorway begins to swing open. Darcy's body tenses as a head pushes itself through the hole, that of a girl who is looking directly down at the floor covered in pictures, oblivious to the boy watching over her.
Wanting to make a move on her before she notices his presence, the boy reaches out and grabs a fistfull of blonde hair that contains streaks of blue, using all of his strength to pull the girl through the open hatch and onto the floor, subconsciously blocking out the screams the girl gives as she struggles against Darcy's surprising strength.
A chunk of hair tears off as the girl hits the floor chin first, Darcy stares down at the clump in shock, not quite comprehending what he had just done. The the girl on the floor was on her feet faster than she had fallen, rapidly backing away and sending photos flying with each step.
"Leave me alone!" She screeches, arms stretched out on both sides with palms pressed flat against the wall. Darcy's hand tightens around the lock of hair, noticing that the mannerisms that the girl is displaying are similar to his own. She's afraid. Confused. Trapped, just like Darcy.
"Where are we?" Darcy whispers, looking up ever so slightly in hopes of spotting a hidden camera, watching each and every move he makes. A silence that stretches for longer than it should have fills the void between boy and girl, the only sound being the faintest of ringing in Darcy's ears. By the time the girl speaks, her composure has become that of a calmer being, although the slight quiver in her ocean blue eyes gives away her peaceful front.
"Where do you think we are?"
Darcy frowns, the tone of her voice gave the implication that she knew what was going on. Did she know where they were? Did she know why he had been snatched from his mother? Was she a friend, or an incredibly talented foe?
"I don't understand," Darcy finally said, fist clenching as he took a shaky step away from the girl, "What's going on?"
The girls face seemed to soften a bit, "You really don't know, do you?"
Her hand snakes through her head of blonde hair until it reaches the patch that had been torn out, eyes flicking down to Darcy's fist and he realizes then that he is still clutching a chunk of her hair.
"Erm, sorry," He said, holding his hand out towards her. She raised an eyebrow, but extended an open palm and allowed Darcy to sprinkle the strands of blonde into her hand, "And no, I don't know. Can't you tell me? Are you a prisoner? Am I a prisoner? Do you know - I mean, is there a way out,"
"I'm sorry," She whispers, shaking her head slightly. When she stilled, her eyes sparkled with crystal tears, "There is no escape,"
Darcy felt his stomach drop, face falling as he stumbles back into the wall, "No escape?"
"No escape," The girl repeated, "Not from the Hunger Games,"
"Hunger Games?" Darcy squeaked. He didn't think it possible, but his terror managed to multiply itself tenfold. Sweat drenched the skin of his flabby hands, and his heart thundered faster than ever before, "But. . .how? I didn't. . .I never. . .I wasn't chosen! I didn't volunteer,"
"I didn't either," The girl said sadly, looking down at the photograph covered floor. Crouching down, she picked up one of the slips of paper. With a start, Darcy realized that the photo was of the girl. She appeared a number of years younger; surrounded by a group of people that had gathered around a park bench. The girl was smiling down at a large, pink cake, with two large candles representing the number eleven, and the words Happy Birthday Quinn writing across the top in blue icing, "I knew they were going to take people. . .I knew this year was going to be different, but I never thought. . ."
She stopped talking as a sound caught her attention. Darcy had heard it too, his head jerked towards the hatch that had opened of its own accord as a head wormed it's way through. The boy had dark hair and a scar running the length of his cheek, curving towards his forehead and coming to a stop just below his left eye.
He didn't appear to notice the two terrified tributes at first. Both Darcy and the newly named Quinn, who had now joined Darcy with her back pressed tightly up against the wall, watched as the boy pulled himself into the room. His face and shirt bore marks of a fight, blood dotting both his skin and the dark fabric; yet the spear he brought with him bore no signs of a fight, remaining clean yet deadlier than anything Darcy had seen in his life. He couldn't determine whether the blood was the boy's own, or somebody else's.
He only seemed to notice he was not alone when he was halfway across the room, foot an inch away from the plate Darcy had awoken on. He paused, if only for a moment, to take in the sight of the two cowering tributes who watched from the opposite side of the room. He didn't know when it had happened, but Darcy's hand was now intertwined with Quinn's, whose skin was revealing the colour of a sheet of paper.
The boy raised his weapon, if only half-heartedly, and continued across the room with a blank expression. Darcy felt himself going into overdrive, the panic becoming far too much as he let out a disgusting croak before spewing a translucent liquid all over the floor. He spent a few more moment heaving on all fours, not wishing to relive the pain, only to have it happen all over again as another stream fell from between his parted lips. His stomach felt as if it were being stabbed with a hundred tiny blades, his throat was on fire. His head was pounding, vision blurring as he looked up to see Quinn standing between he and the boy.
"I won't let you!" She shouted. If she had been trying to sound intimidating, she had not done a great job of it. Her voice wavered with each word, coming out more like the squeak of a mouse than the roar of a lion, "It's not right! You can't do this!"
Her voice sounded as if it were miles away, and Darcy watched through eyes that could not have been his own as the boy continued to advance with an expression that bore no emotion. He raised the weapon as if to attack, and Darcy was sure that in a moments time Quinn would be skewered like the kebabs his mum would serve on christmas. But instead, the boy swung the spear like a bat. The metal handle struck Quinn in the side of the face; not hard enough to do much damage, but with enough force to send her stumbling away.
The boy did not even look at Darcy as he passed, instead reaching out and grabbing the rusty wheel of the hatch opposite of the one he had entered. Darcy watched as the boy clambered through with little grace, vanishing and leaving no trace that he was ever there. The last thing Darcy saw was Quinn's vibrant blue eyes looking up at him before he passed out.
Nathan Carlyle - District TwoHe could hardly believe his luck. What had just a moment ago been a blanket of utter dread and horror was now a cloak that held a sliver of hope. It's almost too good to be true, Nathan thought as he awkwardly crept towards the cornucopia with a nervous smile playing on his lips, regularly looking over his shoulder ever few moments to ensure that the only thing trailing him was the faint shadow at his feet.
The silence that pressed the enormous room was only broken by the short boys footfalls, which grew louder as tile turned to metal. Nathan frowned at the strange assortment of items scattered all over the floor. Spears and swords lay mixed with scattered piles of arrows; a fallen ladder lay only just propped up against the wall of the horn, and a bright blue bag had split beneath it, contents spilling over the floor around it. Nathan strode into the depths of the horn, carefully climbing over the fallen ladder and almost screaming as his foot crunched loudly on a bag of peanuts.
The mess in the tail of the horn was just as bad, if not worse, than the one out front. Items covered the floor so thickly that Nathan could barely make out the metal beneath it. A mace lay on the crumpled lid of a metal crate, as if somebody had attempted to smash the box open, only to not even bother looking inside afterwards. Out of pure curiosity, Nathan pushed the lid away and peered inside. The walls of the box were lined with red felt walls, the interior far smaller than the exterior. The bottom of the crate had been raised so that it was only inches away from the top, and supported only an even smaller box that could be mistaken for a container for an engagement ring. Nathan pulled the box out and opened it, and sure enough, inside sat a golden ring with a large sapphire encrusted in the top. The lid of the box bore a message written in elegant writing.
The ring of gold hides a magnificent gift
But in the blink of an eye, the power can shift
The ring holds both a blessing and a curse
How badly does one wish to place first?
Nathan had only just finished reading the cryptic message when he heard a low growl. Whipping around in the direction of the source, he found himself staring down at a boy snarling at him like an animal. He crawled towards Nathan on all fours, flashing a set of jagged and yellow teeth that were already coated with blood. His hair was wild and matted, framing his already quite animalistic face and increasing the wild look about it.
In a flash, he lunged. Nathan screamed, he screamed louder than ever before, and only managed to step back a second before those jagged teeth snapped at the air where his throat had been moments ago.
He turned around and bolted, leaping over the fallen ladder and landing uneasily on both feet. Not risking a look back, Nathan shot through the open mouth of the horn, only to slam into something solid a moment after. The box with the golden ring, which was still sitting open in his hand, lurched wildly upon impact. The ring flew from the confines of the black box, clattering to the floor soundlessly as Nathan stumbled away from the person he had run into.
"Well, wasn't that graceful?" A voice said, one that Nathan was too preoccupied to notice. With another glance over his shoulder to ensure that the feral boy was not already upon him, Nathan tried to run again. This time, the newcomer wrapped his arms around Nathan's chest as he tried to pass, "Where are you going? We only just met,"
"Let go of me!" Nathan cried, emphasizing each word with a wild kick that struck nothing but the air out in front of him, "Put me down!"
Surprisingly, the boy obliged, loosening his grip and allowing Nathan to slide to the floor, "Don't run,"
Nathan's eye twitched at the command as he stepped away from the boy, unsure on what to do. He could obey the command, and stay put; and risk the chance that the boy will slaughter him then and there. Or he could flee as fast as his legs would take him; but then he runs the risk of the boy attacking him purely because he tried to run. Finding neither of the options all that appealing, Nathan attempted to stall while edging away from the mouth of the cornucopia. He didn't want the wild boy to attack him from behind, "Are you going to kill me?"
The boy smiled, if only slightly, sending shockwaves of fear down Nathan's spine. His only comfort was the fact that the boy bore no visible weapon. If it was a fist fight, he might just stand a chance, "Depends. What district are you from?"
"Ah," Nathan said, realization dawning on him. He should have known it would happen; not that he had had much time to think about anything. The tributes of districts one and four would obviously want to form some sort of alliance. While the extra protection was appealing, Nathan knew that once they found out he was not really the murdering type, his throat would be cut open in a matter of seconds.
He had not answered in a while, the taller boy stood staring down at Nathan with a raised eyebrow. He appeared amused rather than impatient. Eventually, Nathan decided upon the safest option. The truth, "District Two,"
A dark look flashed across the boy's eyes, but evaporated so swiftly that Nathan could not be certain that he had seen it, "Two?"
"Two," Nathan confirmed, rubbing his elbows awkwardly. His knees were quaking beneath him, a tingling sensation running throughout his legs that were begging to run. How long would it take for him to give in?
"I'm Malcolm," The boy said, holding out a hand in such a formal manner that Nathan was rather taken aback, "Malcolm Edison. District Five,"
"Malcolm," Nathan echoed as he awkwardly shook the boy's hand. A flicker of a memory flashed through his mind, a word scrawled across one of the photographs taped to the wall of the room he had awoken in. The picture had been of a young girl, no older than eight, with short blonde hair and thick mud caking her white dress. Nathan had pulled the picture from the wall only to find another one behind it, this one of a boy with the same elegant blonde hair and lightly freckled face; only this time a little older. The boy had been sitting in hospital, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The photo had been taken from down a hallway, as if the boy had no idea that he had been photographed. That picture had had the same name written across the bottom in the same thick black letters: Malcolm Edison.
"Oh my god!" Nathan cried, dropping the boy's hand as if it were drenched in sewerage, "You're the freak!"
"Freak?" The boy echoed, his voice dark and dangerous. The previous warm and friendly look had vanished, replaced by that flash of rage Nathan had seen in his eyes a mere moment ago. The boy took a large step forwards, so that Nathan's nose was now inches away from the boy's throat, "Did you just call me a freak?"
"N-no-" Nathan mumbled, taking a step backwards only to have the gap closed by Malcolm a moment later, "I-I didn't mean it. It's just what my dad-"
"What your dad called people like me?" The boy snarled, "I'm a freak, huh? Is that what you think?"
"No!" Nathan cried, "No! I would never - I just thought-"
The movement was so quick that Nathan had no chance of evading. Malcolm shoved two hands against Nathan's chest with enough force to knock him off his feet. The shorter boy flew backwards a few feet and slammed into the exterior wall of the cornucopia, the resulting clang echoing around the vast, empty room with an ominous aftertone.
"You think I'm a freak!" Malcolm bellowed, "I'm a freak because I was born in the wrong body?"
"I didn-t-" Nathan choked out, but Malcolm was beyond listening.
"No! I'm going to show you what a freak looks like. I wonder what your dad will think when I'm through with you!" Nathan tried to stand as Malcolm screamed at him, only to have the taller boy deliver a harsh kick to the underside of Nathan's jaw. He let out a grunt as blood sprayed from between his lips. He dropped to his hands and knees and heaved, more crimson blood splattering the white tile alongside a lone tooth.
"You're a monster!" Nathan managed to splutter. Malcolm looked as if he were going to say something further, but the words died in his throat. A look overcame the teenager that was a mixture of utter horror and pure rage. His face took on a red tinge, eyes bulging as he took a step away from the bleeding boy. Nathan had not meant the word to have the effect that it did; he didn't know what an impact it would have the moment it left his lips. But he did not have enough time to regret it as a third body joined the fray.
Nathan screamed and tried to scramble away as the wild boy that had been inside of the cornucopia leapt in his direction. He narrowly missed landing on Nathan's back as the latter reeled up onto his knees, watching in horror as the boy sniffed the blood splattered across the floor like an ancient predator.
Those bright green eyes that showed little human nature within them flicked up to Nathan's face, focusing on his bloody lips with a look of hunger. He lunged, and Nathan was not fast enough to dodge away. With his hands slamming into Nathan's chest like hammers, the boy screamed as his head smashed painfully into the wall of the cornucopia. The boy let out a snarl and with a flash of those disgusting yellow teeth, Nathan let out a cry of agony as the boy tore at the skin of his cheek.
Nathan felt like passing out, not only from the pain, but of the sight of the bloody chunk of flesh that the insane boy pulled away with, dangling between his sharp teeth and quivering slightly as if it were alive. He watched as the boy chewed and swallowed the chunk whole, before looking up at Malcolm with a pleading look, "Help! Please!"
The plea came out as more of a croak; his throat was raw from the agonizing scream he had let out a moment ago. Malcolm looked Nathan dead in the eye, staring at them for what seemed like an eternity before turning his back on the ungodly scene before him.
"No! Malcolm please!" Nathan screamed as the boy began walking away, "Please! You have to help me! You have to-"
The end of Nathan Carlyle's cries for mercy went unheard by all as the animalistic Wolf leant down and sunk his teeth into his prey's exposed throat. Nathan screamed, a scream unlike anything the animalistic boy had ever heard before. But the cry did not deter him, and he continued to tear away at the Nathan's throat, pulling chunk after chunk of flesh away as blood sprayed his dirty and unkempt face. Nathan's screams soon turned to gags, spluttering and coughing up crimson as his windpipe was torn open and filled with blood. The very last thing he saw before death was the back of the freak who had left with no mercy.
Brody Lewis - District TwelveBrody's hands were trembling as they gripped the rusty wheel of the hatch, eyes clenched shut as he twisted the metal with all of his might. His cheeks were already wet with tears of terror and fear; yet somehow the revelation that he was trapped in the deadly arena weakened the original fear of the unknown.
His arms burned as the unwilling wheel gave a lurch, his flimsy arms screaming at him to stop as he twisted the heavy metal of the hatch on the left side of his room. The process became easier halfway through; the wheel became looser as rust wore away, and he found the wheel relatively easy to turn towards the end.
The room on the other side was an exact replica of the one he had clambered away from. The same circular plate sat in the centre of the room, and the floor was littered with the same photographs that he had seen in the room he had emerged from. He could make out a picture of a tall, blonde girl with a streak of blue tarnishing her golden demeanor. She was perched on the ledge of a tall building, peering down and watching two men dressed in black below who appeared to not notice the girl studying them from above. Evidently, the girl didn't seem to notice that she was being watched herself.
Brody had seen that exact picture in his own room; it had been the one originally taped to the wall. He had also seen countless other images of various teenagers; photos of girls walking with their friends and boys climbing towering trees. He had seen photos of himself; most memorably, a picture of the boy himself standing over the hospital bed of his younger brother. It had been taken a few moments after he had died, yet Brody could not remember a single person having a camera at the time.
The next room was vacant as well; replicating the previous two rooms he had been in. He had refused to go near the open hatches since peering out of it for a split second in his own room; he didn't want to risk being sighted by somebody more bloodthirsty than he. He was unsure if the other kids in the photographs were the other tributes; and part of him was hoping they weren't. While some photo's depicted some scary and skilled looking people, what really scared Brody were the numerous pictures of his own girlfriend from back home. He prayed that she was not trapped in here with him.
Upon the fourth identical yet void of life cubical, Brody concluded that continuing in this straight line was going to get him nowhere. He did not want to risk slipping through the open hatch out into the centre, and the hatch in the ceiling was unreachable at this point in time. This left him with only one other option; the hatch opposite the one that swung open of it's own accord.
This hatch was far easier to open than its predecessors, and swung open to reveal a slightly larger yet completely empty room on the other side. This room only had two hatches; the one he had entered through, and one on the opposite side of the room.
"I know I'm supposed to be terrified," Brody whispered to anybody that was listening, "But this arena idea is extremely dull,"
The moment the words left his mouth, the hatch he had just entered through slammed shut with a bang. At the same time, a section of the floor in the centre vanished, revealing a pool of deep blue water underneath. Curiously, Brody edged towards the edge of the pool and peered through. It didn't look too deep, and at the bottom lay a small bag; similar to one a kindergartener would wear to school, and tied to one of the pink straps was a golden key.
The sight of the water made him queasy, not once in his entire life has Brody ever dipped in a body of water aside from the dirty bathtub back home. The pool didn't look too deep, he would probably still have his head sticking out if he were to stand up straight. But he did not want to risk it, placing a bag in such a shallow pool feels too easy. What if he jumps in and something seals him inside?
Rounding the pool and heading for the opposite hatch, Brody finds himself face to face with a doorknob displaying a golden lock; one that refused to turn no matter how hard Brody might tug.
"Of course," Brody grumbles as he trudges back towards the water, "Why make it easy for me?"
The boy began to chuckle at his ability to make sarcastic comments despite the situation, and that chuckle quickly shifted a fully fledged laugh as he approached the rippling pool of water. Soon, he was on all fours banging his fist; the fear and anger directed towards those who had snatched him from his life bubbling to the surface in an insane fit of laughter. Then he began to cough, and soon he was spluttering and gagging for air as his body was racked with violent coughs. A yellow liquid flew from his mouth and hit the surface of the pool, sinking below the surface as the boy knelt on his knees and wiped his lips. The coughs were not uncommon, he has been sick for a long time. His mother had been so worried when it started; she thought he was going to die. But here he is, still going strong four years later. Or, as strong as a malnourished boy trapped in a battle to the death can be.
While recovering from the painful fit of coughs; Brody started to remove his clothing. Despite being brought up far from any body of water; he knew the dangers of hypothermia that wearing damp clothes could bring. He was painfully aware that a thousand eyes were watching him as he pulled down his pants and kicked off his shoes; but he tried his best not to care. They were going to see a much worse side of Brody before this was all over. Once stripped of all clothing but his underwear, Brody edged closer to the side of the pool and peered over the edge.
He could not see any immediate danger, but he knew he needed to be prepared for a quick exit should something emerge from the shallow depths of the pool. The gamemakers would never make something this easy; never.
Extending a leg, Brody lowered his foot down to the water until his toe sunk beneath the surface. For a moment, everything was normal. He was about to sink his foot further in when a sudden blistering pain exploded from within his big toe. He lets out a scream and yanks his foot away from the water, stumbling backwards and falling down on his backside.
The pain subsides almost immediately, and upon closer inspection of his toe; he finds no visible signs of damage or injury. Crawling back towards the edge of the pool, Brody reaches down and dips his index finger into the water. The same blistering pain erupted from within, it felt as if his flesh was on fire. He yanked his finger from the pool with a hiss of pain; and once again the pain subsided almost right away.
"I just had to be right," Brody says through clenched teeth as he ensures his finger has sustained no damage. He knew that just taking a dip in the crystal clear water would be too easy. The good news was that it didn't seem like the water would kill him; whatever caused the explosion of pain in his flesh did not cause any lingering damage. The downside was that the pain was almost unbearable when just his toe was submerged, how was he supposed to stand dunking his entire body inside.
"Just do it," The boy says to himself, "It will be over in ten seconds. Just do it,"
Climbing to his feet, Brody stood on the edge of the pool and prepared to jump, "Three. Two. One,"
His body gave a violent lurch upon reaching one, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the white tiles. He let out a frustrated groan as he prepared to count down again. It was like his body was disobeying orders; Brody could not quite tell if that was a bad thing.
"Three,"
He was vaguely aware that he was sweating; every single muscle in the boys slim body was tensing as tightly as possible.
"Two,"
He wondered what would happen if he passed out while in the water. Would it eventually kill him? If he did pass out, would his head still remain above the surface? How long would he be able to stand the pain?
"One,"
Every inch of his body screamed in agony as Brody's body broke the surface of the water, submerging up to his shoulders before his feet hit the ground harshly. His flesh felt as if it were melting; and for a moment he was paralysed by the intense pain that was racking his body.
But then he remembered the picture he had seen of the girl smiling brightly on her first day of highschool; chatting with her mother while she walked through the school gates with her fingers intertwined with his. Brody could not die without seeing Felecia again. If she was stuck in this arena as well, he needed to find her.
Fighting against the immense pain, Brody kicked around beneath the water until his foot caught the strap of the bag. His arms exploded through the surface of the water, reaching up and grabbing the side of the pool as he shakily attempted to pull himself up.
He did not even get halfway before his leg tugged violently. He let out a pathetic sob as he looked down and found that one of the bag straps had been caught around a large nail jutting out of the floor in the bottom of the pool; no amount of kicking would free it.
He wanted to give up. The pain was too much. He could feel his body shutting down, his left leg no longer motoring and just floating aimlessly. But Brody knew he could not give up; his mother did not raise a quitter. He cannot die before redeeming himself after what happened to his brother.
Sucking in a deep breath, Brody dove below the surface. He didn't dare open his eyes, and thankfully found the nail almost immediately. His mind was blank; he could not think. He could not picture anything except for his own body writhing about in agony. This pain would never end. This was it. This was death, forever floating through nothingness in pure agony for all eternity. This was his punishment; he was paying the price for what he did to Riley.
His head broke the surface, and Brody let out the loudest scream that he had ever heard. With the last of his strength, Brody gripped the edges of the pool and hauled himself away from the water. The pink bag slapped the floor beside his head; golden key jingling loudly as it bounced against the tile.
The pain subsides the moment his right foot emerged from the water, and Brody found himself lying flat on his stomach; gasping for breath. He did it. He actually did it. Brody Lewis would live to see another day.
Wolf - District ThreeWolf could hear the person approaching him slowly. The boy had moved around him in a wide arc, and was now approaching the savage at a slow and cautious pace. Wolf knew he was in danger; he could sense it. But his hunger was too strong; he hadn't eaten in so long.
The flash of a memory shot through his mind; and for a moment he was back in his cage. The man dressed in white shoved the metal stick through the bars, and the moment it hit his skin; his world was nothing but pain.
Wolf snarled at the memory; as if the intimidation would affect the man even now. He did not know why the man had hurt him, but Wolf had quickly learnt to fear those dressed in white.
The child beneath him had finished moving a while ago; and Wolf missed the struggle. It was exciting; hunting down his prey and taking them out. It was like being in the woods all over again. He had not been there in so long.
Wolf's hunger had not yet been fulfilled; his instincts were clouded by the need to eat. The fresh stench of blood had overpowered his senses, drawing him to the wounded boy like a moth to a light. This is why Wolf did not turn from his meal until something clamped down around his throat.
"Finally got you," A voice snarls. It was deep, Wolf knew that much. He turned and bares his teeth at the towering boy, who did not flinch in the slightest. Wolf felt confused, his prey always tried to run. Why was he just standing there?
"You don't scare me, beast," The boy growls, "Best to tame you now before you do me harm,"
Wolf lunged. His thirst was flesh was strong; stomach far from filled. Wolf had found that humans provided little sustenance and were much harder to catch. The boy preferred a baby deer or a family of rabbits. He was inches away from the boy's neck when suddenly he was pulled to the side.
Wolf let out a yelp, hitting the floor stunned. He couldn't understand; are the white men here? Wolf could not see anybody except for the boy towering over him and the two bleeding bodies that lay close to the enormous horn. The boy was holding a rope, one that extended out towards Wolf. Lifting a hand, the boy found the tough fabric was wrapped around his neck. He was restrained.
Wolf could not understand, the boy was not one of the white men. Why was he doing this? His prey never fought back.
"Come on, beast," The boy said, a smile playing on his lips as he tugged on the rope, "I think we are going to be great friends,"