Thunderclap
Chapter One
Clouds
She was falling.
Downward she flew like a sparrow struck down by a carelessly thrown stone. Down, down, down… it felt like she had been falling for all she could remember– trapped in a perpetual state of vertigo and weightlessness. The world was upside down, but right side up again, and she could not tell which was which, for the outside was blocked off from her vision. And there was too much noise; oh, the noise. It was more unbearable to her than the feeling of her body being tossed aside by the elements like an old doll cascading down the stairs. Wood scraping on stone, the clattering of collateral, the reverberating booms akin to drums in the distance. It lit up a cacophony in her mind, filling up every inch of her brain, forcing out all thoughts until her ears began to bleed from the sheer volume of her own screaming.
The world was a whir of color, a whir of noise, and a whir of whirs and light and sound. The cold air of the night did nothing to soothe her as it did back on her own front porch, now it only bit into her skin as raindrops blended with her tears.
And what followed was a great crash; she could not tell what it was. All she remembered was pain, and through a tear that revealed the world around her, a spectacular, awful flash in the storm clouds above.
Then, as she lay there, finally still, the pressure of someone's grasp began to loosen, and there was a sound of thunder.
It was her earliest memory.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Brando dropped the chicken he had been holding, causing a stunned cluck to emerge from the bird as it hit the wooden floor of the coup. He cringed as it struggled to get up, then leaned down over it to help the fowl stand again.
"S- sorry, chickie-poo," he stammered, a blush forming on his face. The ten-year-old wasn't quite sure if it was from his embarrassment or the windchill seeping through the bark walls. "I–"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAWOOOOOOOOOOO!"
He couldn't help but squeak at this one, and once more dropped the plump bird to the floor. It began to peck at his toes in agitation, before quickly losing interest and strutting back to its nest. But Brando wasn't looking at the chicken. Instead, he was looking at the door to the pen.
"AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The pained howl continued, and he shivered harder, but not because of the cold.
Brando Beniot knew he wasn't supposed to be in here today. The snowstorm was worse than the folks in town said it would be; winters in District Ten were already harsh, so harsh that even his nice winter cowskin couldn't keep the chilliness from seeping into his bones. His parents told him to stay inside today and were sleeping in bed, but he couldn't help but worry about his beloved chickens. He forgot to feed them today. What if his poor little chickie-poos starved in this blizzard? He had to go get them their birdfeed, right away!
He had managed to trudge through the two-inch layer that had built up in the few hours the storm had been in town and was in the middle of feeding the birds when noises picked up.
"IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOO"
That was a howl; that was a wolf's howl! His folks always told him– "don't go out at night, that's when the wolves come out!" But Brando just wasn't thinking when he left his room. He just wanted to feed his chickens.
He buried his face in his palms. Oh, he was in so much trouble!
"P-please wolfie, leave us alone!"
"AWOOOOO!"
But the howls didn't stop, and Brando hugged his knees to his chest as he clung to the coup's doors. And they continued to get louder, and louder, and louder, until–!
"AAA! Aaa! AAAA! AAAAAGH!"
Brando stopped huddling in the corner, his freezing tears of terror halting in a temporary confusion.
That didn't sound like any wolf he's ever heard of.
On shaky legs, he slinked toward the small window by the pen door, which had been fogged over by the cold. Wiping it off with his hand, he squinted, standing on his tippy-toes to try and see the outside. He couldn't see much, through the blurry glass, but out by the fence, there was a strange… thing.
Hm?
"I– I better not regret this… ch-chickie-poos…"
With a gulp of fear, he got down on his knees and stuck his head out of the pen. He strained to see through the snowy night, but in the distance, the figure in the fence could be seen.
A cow's skull stared at him.
"AAAAAAA!" he screamed, scrambling back into the pen, crawling on his hands until he hit the back wall, panting. The bag of birdseed he brought fell over, and the chickens quickly pounced on it, pecking away without a care in the world for the boy's heavy breathing.
"I-I-It's a ghost!"
"AAAAAAAAA!"
Sounds of thrashing came from the voice outside, the snow being pummelled underneath it.
"AAA– A– aaaaaaa– aa…"
Brando had his ears covered, pressing them against his skull until no noise could reach him at all. But still, the screams continued, getting quieter and quieter...
For a few minutes longer, he was too afraid to come out of the pen, too frozen even to pick up the bag. He opened his eyes, which had been sealed shut by their own volition, and ever so slightly, his heart rate decelerated.
Was… was it gone?
For what felt like the umpteenth time, he picked himself up from the floor, dragging the bag with him (so his chickens couldn't fatten themselves even further), he stepped into the frigid night air.
His heart began pounding in his chest again as he locked the gate, fumbling with the lock. Usually, it was an easy task, but he was too busy trying to spot that skull, too busy listening for any of those "wolf" calls. But none were heard, and the skull wasn't anywhere in sight. This only raised his fear, and once again, the lock didn't clatch.
"C-c-c-come on," he said, teeth chattering from the invasive forces of the snow. The lock missed a fourth time, a fifth time, his gloves making his hands too big and slippery to handle it properly.
"Come on!"
"Aaa…ha….aaaaa, AH! AHHHHHHH!"
He jumped, and one of his boots caught on the floor, causing him to slip and collapse in the snow. The door to the coup fell open, and quickly, he rushed to shut it.
Wait… the lock! Where was the lock?!
Getting to his hands and knees, he searched for any shine in the night, hoping to see the bronze shimmer of a metal clasp in the snow. He… he needed to get out of here! Why did he think this was a good idea?!
His hand brushed over something, causing Brando to greedily snatch it up in his desperation. But that was no lock. It was… not cold enough. It didn't have that metallic sheen, nor the three bumps of the clasp. Actually, he wasn't sure why he thought it had been the lock at all; this felt nothing of the sort…
It was the skull.
Rather than throw it away again and scramble out of the snow, Brando felt as if his heart had simply stopped. A thick, icy tension ran through him faster than the wind could, and, slowly, so slowly, but ever so surely, he felt himself involuntarily looking back toward where the noise was.
Was.
A mess of black hair stood out in the pale white darkness; the shimmer of the snow contrasted as it did not reflect the coup's light. The ghost… no, the girl simply laid there, and dread, more cold, more sharp and fearful than the whole of this blizzard, churned a painful vat into Brando's tummy.
More than that. She collapsed, buried by a thin layer of snow. He didn't control his feet as curiosity led him forward like a dog would herd sheep into a corral. Her back half seemed caught in… one of their snares in the fence. They had set them up in case wolves tried to take the cows, or the goats, or his precious chickie-poos…
But the red pouring into the fresh powder belonged to no animal.
A sharp inhale came from him at this, and his heart, frozen in time, suddenly found its course again. It pounded once.
It pounded twice.
It pounded thrice, and four times, and five times and six and seven and eight and nine and–
Snow flew into the air, kicked up from Brando's panicked thrashing. The door to the coup remained forgotten as the boy bottled back for home, and it fell open; downward until it "clanged!" onto the metal lock beneath it.
The Girl's mind was hazy, but she saw a light in the distance. Something shouting. Something howling…
The colors blurred a final time, and the winter bit her again…
She clutched the skull.
"Settle down boys– boys, b– Moona! Come help me out down here!"
The seventeen-year-old rubbed her eyes, still bleary from sleep as she trudged down the stairs, wrapped in her bedsheets. It would be easier for her to just leave them, as they continuously got tangled up behind her, but it was too cold to walk around in just your clothes in the wintertime and too cold to even be awake at this hour. So it wasn't a surprise to see that two of her younger brothers were awake, just hollering around so all of the neighbors could hear, in their thin little pajamas at this hour of the night.
Moona yawned, and on autopilot, she did as she always did when this occurred; making her way to their hearth. While it was, technically, illegal to log one's own wood instead of purchasing it through the Capitol, the Peacekeepers didn't really check to see what they were doing out here all that much, and they lived right next to a forest. They could harvest as much firewood as they wanted. And Moona had enough to light their load as much as they needed for when the boys were rowdy past midnight.
It happened more than you'd think.
As the wood caught fire in the hearth, Moona glanced around the now-illuminated room. Her brothers, save for Brando (he slept like a brick most nights), and also Trotter (he was an adult, she didn't question it), were practically hopping around the room, shrieking in… fear? Excitement? She couldn't tell, but regardless, went into their adjacent kitchen to begin preparing a pot of coffee. Unlike the firewood, she didn't often do that, but this already felt like it was gonna be a long night. Her Mother didn't even have to call her downstairs this time; she would be able to hear… this from space.
"Mama! Mama! Where's the girl, where's the girl?!" that was Husky's voice. Oh boy was that kid the loudest by far. Moona rubbed her head as she began to boil the pot.
"Mama! Is she gonna be alright?!" Furr was quieter but still caused a ruckus alongside his younger brother. Mama shook her head as she sat down on their sofa.
"Mama! Is it true she had a cow skull?"
"And that she was caught in our wolfie snare?"
"What if she's a werewolf, Mama, what if?!"
"No no no, I don't wanna think about one of those beasties bein' 'round our house! They give me the creeps!"
Moona couldn't tell who was talking (or even what they were talking about for that matter) but the coffee was done. She got out two, no, three mugs (she needed some of this tonight), and poured the brew inside. From over the kitchen counter, she leaned into their living room.
"Mama," she said, yawning as she lazily slid one cup toward the woman, "I don't think that we have enough beans to keep us through the winter if this keeps happening."
Moona's mother, kind and patient as she was, didn't turn this down, instead opting to down the whole mug in a single go. Moona wasn't sure whether to be impressed or frightened and instead decided to just silently sip from her own cup as the boys continued their ruckus.
Mama, back turned, sat the mug on the counter, and tapped next to it. "Pass me the other one."
"That's for 'Pops."
"He's at the hospital right now, pass it to me."
"I–!" Moona almost dropped her own mug, before shakily putting it on the counter at the last second, "He's where?!"
Her mother opened her mouth to explain, but the boys chirped in before she could respond.
"Brando found a girl in the snow!" Husky said before Furr interrupted him.
"He and 'Pops are takin' her to the hospital!"
Husky continued as if Furr wasn't talking, and Furr continued as if Husky wasn't either.
"She was caught in the wolf snare–"
"Trotter's drivin' the truck up there!"
"Brando said she had a cow skull on her head! Maybe she's a ghost!"
"Said she was bleeding all over, Moona!"
"A cow ghost!"
"I hope she's alive, it didn't look very good–"
"A… cow werewolf ghost!"
"Alright boys, alright!" Mama said, and she picked both of them, much to their protest, before setting them down on their old couch. Husky looked up at her, making his best pouty face in the process.
"But Mama–"
"No buts!" she said, downing the other mug. The boys made pleading faces at her, climbing over the other to get on the edge of the couch, but she shot back first.
"Don't make me get the shoe, you two."
They sat still for a moment, before a faint "eep!" escaped one of them (Moona wasn't sure which) and they sat back down. Mama sighed in relief, leaning on the counter to face Moona.
"Thanks, sweetpea," she said, head in her palms, "I know it's late, but, well, you heard it from them."
Moona nodded before sipping out of her mug. "I really couldn't tell what they were sayin' though."
"We were–!"
"Boys," Mama said, cutting Furr off. The boy, once perked up, sagged again, flopping down the couch until his head was practically on the seat. Mama turned back to Moona, yawning.
"So, what happened was, your little brother, er, the other one, at least, went out to feed his chickens, and he found a girl caught in our wolf snare. So he, Trotter, and your dad are at the hospital right now."
Another sip. "Do we know who it is?"
Mama shook her head. "No one I've ever seen in these parts. She's pale for that; like an Eighter. Poor thing, I hope she's OK…"
She exhaled, then under her breath muttered a few extra words, "And I hope her parents don't come after us…"
There was silence for a little while, and both women sincerely hoped the boys would settle down and fall back to sleep so they could wait for the others in peace. But, just as the lull overtook Moona once more, Furr shot back up as if struck by lightning.
"Wait!"
"Furr please–" Moona groaned, finishing off her mug. Goodness, she wished she could just make more…
Furr was unperturbed, and, with great theatrics, gasped out his new theory. "What if she's… the wild child?!"
"Furr–"
But it was too late. Husky had heard this and the two were suddenly hopping up and down again.
"You mean that she's real?!"
"Could be! Brando said she howled and everythin'!"
"That could just mean she's a werewolf, Furr!"
"But what if I'm right!"
"You're not ever right!"
"Am to!"
"Are not!"
"Am to!"
"Are not–"
"Husky, Furr, enough with this!" Mama shouted, but they were much too excited about this new "wild child" hullabaloo to listen to her this time. Moona just watched on, feeling a migraine growing. She would've thought that they'd be over that old rumor of some kid living in the woods by now, but no, it seems like they still believe in all of that nonsense, still believed in a make-believe world where a small girl could live off of wild berries and stolen livestock by her lonesome. And they were undoubtedly loud about it too. Moona huffed and eyed the coffee beans. Maybe they still had enough to make it through the winter after all…
"Am to!"
"Are not infinity!"
"Hey, that's no fair!"
"Is to!"
"Is not–"
Brrrrring!
…
… …
… … … …
Brrrrring!
Silence came through the four, like a wave. The boys stopped arguing. Moona stood up straight. Mama turned away from them and towards the little round table with their little rotary phone.
Brrrrring!
"Shh!" Mama shushed, but no one was speaking. The phone seldom rang. It was a formality, primarily, as a reception was rare to come by. Like their television, it was only used in official, crucial matters. Matters of the utmost importance.
And it was ringing, right now.
Brrrrring!
Mama glanced back and forth, then, slowly and cautiously, took the phone up to her ear, glancing nervously back and forth at her children, as if that would do her any good.
"...Hello?"
"Ricotta, it's me!"
"Oh!" she said, clutching her chest at her husband's voice. Ah, so it was the hospital's line contacting her. Suddenly, she found herself at ease, standing up straight. "It's just you, Rasher."
"They're letting me use their phone for this. We have a… situation, with the girl."
And that cold sinking feeling reeled back in. Ricotta wasn't even surprised, just… disappointed.
"Is she alright honey?"
"Oh, she'll be fine," at this, Ricotta breathed a sigh of relief, "She'll be out of it for a while, but she'll make a full recovery. Brando's lucky that he found her when he did, or else she'd be a lot worse off."
"Then what's the issue?"
"No one has any idea where she comes from."
"It's been three hours," Ricotta said, deadpan, "You expect them to have found her parents in three hours?"
"No, Ricotta," he said, "But the doctors tell me that she's too different to be from anybody in their database."
She didn't need to ask why. The girl was deathly pale, practically a ghost, and she didn't know anybody with skin so light that they'd give birth to a snowman. But still… Ten was a big district. She could've easily come from a different corner of it than theirs.
"So how long is she gonna have to wait for them to arrive?"
"We don't know."
"Of course not…"
She wasn't angry, as she said this, just… nervous. Ricotta didn't know how long they'd let that girl stay in there before they kicked her to the curb, and if she was just… out there, in the snow, alone…
Needless to say, she didn't like the implications.
"Can you at least ask her who her parents are?" she said, "Do you think they'll contact them? Get them over here before they hand the poor thing over to those Peacekeepers?"
"That's the other thing, honey."
"What now? Are they going to kick her out while she's still sleeping? What sort of staff runs this place?"
"No no, the girl's awake."
"What did she say?"
"...nothing."
That threw her in for a loop, and for a moment, she just stood there, eying the wall.
"Does she… not know where her parents are?"
"No, Ricotta. I mean, she literally hasn't said anything coherent. She doesn't speak at all."
Oh.
…
Oh.
"What does that… mean for her?"
"They're not taking her into any Children's Homes like this. I don't think they want to create a search with some… feral child."
"That means that those Peacekeepers are gonna…"
"Yeah."
Ricotta knew what this meant, Rasher knew what this meant.
Moona also knew, once her Mother began snapping her fingers toward the kitchen. She sighed and went to fetch the beans from the pantry again.
It was going to be a long night.
"They really couldn't just let the Peacekeepers have her, huh?"
From around the corner, Moona whispered, observing the girl, that odd, pale girl, sitting with her parents at the kitchen table. The curtains had been drawn, leaving the room mostly in the dark, to not attract any attention from nosy neighbors. There had been quite the commotion a few weeks back on the night when Brando found this girl, who was currently staring uncomprehendingly at the pages of books the two held in front of her. And they didn't want anybody discovering that they were stowing her away.
Of course, that came through to the biggest issue. She didn't speak. Well, she did, but not like a person. More like some wild animals And rectifying that was seeming to be a… challenge, thus far, as Moona observed.
Trotter was also watching, but unlike her, wasn't trying to hide, simply looking at his sister peaking her head "oh-so-sneakily" into the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, albeit playfully.
"Lay of the girl, Moon-Moon," he said, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. She flinched, then gaped at him as if it actually hurt her, and for someone who didn't know her better, it looked a tad convincing.
But he knew better, and smirked at her, "What, do ya think she deserved to get sent in? Everybody knows that no one knows what they do ta strays."
"Stray's one way of puttin' it…"
She turned back over to the table, looking at her more carefully. Through and through, Brando's Mystery Ghost-Feral-Werewolf-Cow Skull Girl– or whatever her little brothers were calling her this time– was an enigma. She was just… odd. Uncanny. There had been talk of some sort of "wild child" in the woods, but even if those were true, was this actually that girl? She certainly seemed that way. As her parents tried to teach her words, the duo observed from the sidelines, she merely growled at them, clutching her cow's skull (a cow skull?! where on earth did she get a cow skull?!).
The lessons had not been going well, as of then, she thought. It was still difficult to make out. The curtains were closed, to prevent nosy neighbors from spotting this kid they just, spontaneously adopted. Well, not adopted, she was just here until she could tell them who her parents were. Didn't want to get her sent to the Peacekeepers after all, and Moona got that, she did. She didn't have any problem at all with the idea of this kid. It was just that…
"Does the girlie even know where she came from?"
Trotter shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sight in front of him, "Beats me. My guess is she's that Wild Child people keep talking about."
"There ain't no way those rumors are true, Trots."
He threw up his hands in mock defense but gestured back at the girl, still dressed in the too-large clothing of his little brother Husky. "What's your guess then, Moon-Moon?"
Y'know, she really wasn't sure. The skull, the paleness, the cuts and bruises lining her skin… they all seem like jumbled details. She shrugged back at Trotter. "Meh. I've got nothin'."
"Wild Child it is then."
"Never said she was a Wild Child, just said I didn't have a clue, Trots."
"Same difference."
"Fair enough, I 'spose."
Across the room, her parents held up a little picture book full of words. Moona remembered those from when she was young, but this seemed like a different case. Well, no one was sure what kinda case this was at all. Mystery Were-Ghost or whatever-she-was-called… she just couldn't wrap her head around it.
Pointing to one of the pages, Mama began to speak to her, in that teacher-y voice of hers.
"Hello," she said to the girl, "Can you say that? Hello?"
The girl squinted, and began to speak. Kinda. It was more like exhaling, actually.
"He… he…"
"That's it!" 'Pops said, "C'mon now, hello!"
But instead of saying the word, she suddenly bared her teeth and, honest to goodness, growled, slamming her fists on the table as she glared up at the man. Everyone jumped. Moona herself ended up ramming herself into a wall with how much she backed away. It was at that moment that her parents seemed to notice that the two were standing there, watching them. But, of course, that wasn't important.
There was a beat. The girl continued to growl, and the rest caught their breaths.
It was 'Pops that went first.
"...Well now what?"
At that, however, the back door, the one down the hall that led out to their ranch, began to jingle and jiggle, and the four, well, five if you included the girl, reactively faced in that direction to see who was there.
When it did open, at last, it was opened with the sound of tiny shuffling boots stomping on the carpet to get the compacted snow out of the cracks, and the sound of tiny wool gloves being tossed aside onto the side table to dry. Now, unbeknownst to the Benoit family, the girl they were hosting had heard many sounds in her short life. It was critical to her condition. Multitudes of strange and diverse noises lived in her mind, proving pivotal to her survival, but none like this one. No, this was a sound that even she was unaccustomed to, but around her, she could spot the strangers, the tall and brownish people that put her in that weird white room, and now this weird yellow room, turn their faces upward, their focus away from her. She didn't know why. But while wasn't particularly well-versed in what that meant, a visceral part of her just knew that that meant… joy.
They said many things to and at her, things that she vaguely recognized. Like "Hello." What even was that? And now they said many things to each other; amongst themselves.
…they said that Word again. Brando.
She… she knew… what that Word meant, when that other stranger came walking in, discussing more things in more terms she didn't fully understand.
But she liked seeing him, sorta, that much she knew. Sort of like them, she felt her face doing that upward thing.
A Brando was that one. That was a Brando, and she liked those.
As for Brando, the boy had come straight back in from feeding his chickie-poos to see her. He didn't seem to know what was going on, but for different reasons, Moona assumed. But he was ten, and this girl was… probably also ten, now that she thought about it. But Brando seemed a lot more innocent than her. There was no sign of anger and aggression, like in the girl. No, only that wide-eyed optimism.
She hoped he never lost it.
"Hello, Mama! Hello, 'Pops" he said, waving vigorously as he entered the kitchen, "I fed the chickie-poos! Found the latch so we don't gotta board up the coup no more.
"Hello, Moona! Hello, Trotter! Hello, Bones! Oh, Mama, Do ya know where the other two are? I gotta say hi to 'em too!"
"...Bones?" Moona said, staring incredulously. Brando nodded.
"Well, she doesn't got a name, so I thought I'd give her one! And she's got that skull on her head…"
The whole family took a look at her, then back at Brando, then back at the girl, and at once, they sort of all nodded, agreeing with the boy. It wasn't the most creative name, but it fits, they supposed.
…
She sat at the table, staring.
He shook his arm back and forth. And he said the same word as the other two, but without getting right up into her.
'Hello,' he had said. 'Hello…'
"H…"
"Oh, watch out Rasher, in case she bites this time!"
"Hel… lo."
Silence.
Then, a beat. She concentrated and tried to replicate the sound. She was good at that.
"H– Hello!"
"Well, lookie there," Trotter said, chuckling just a bit, "Looks like she's takin' a shine to you, Brandy."
He glanced back up at him, away from the girl, "Whatsit?"
And, once again, the girl spoke. "Hello… B… Br… Brando!"
"Hello, Bones!" he said again, and he waved right at her, cheerfully oblivious to the fact that he just casually solved their greatest dilemma.
Ricotta set down her book, staring in disbelief. It couldn't have been that easy.
"Hello!" the girl, Bones, said back, and to everyone's dazzlement, she began… waving to Brando, in the same fashion as he had.
"...Hello," Ricotta said back.
It was later decided that Brando would be her study partner. He had no qualms against this.
"What's that?"
It was springtime now, and the girl, Bones, as she had since been dubbed, had begun to speak coherent sentences. Brando's parents were thrilled, and also completely confused as to how she took up language so quickly, but they didn't complain.
At this point, the snow had begun to melt, and down on the ranch, Brando, followed by Bones– who was now thoroughly in the "question everything" phase– was dragging his bag of birdseed down to the coup again. While cautious, his parents seemed to trust her just enough to leave the house with Brando.
And also Mama, who was making sure that she didn't hurt him while she tended to the cows.
"It's for the chickie-poos!"
"What's that?"
He turned around as he fiddled with the latch. "What, a chickie-poo?"
Bones nodded vigorously, climbing to the top of the coup and staring into the pen windows… upside down. Somehow that skull on her head didn't fall off as she pressed her face against the glass, ooo-ing and ah-ing and giggling at his birds. But Brando panicked, dropping his birdseed bag.
"Bones, what're ya doin'?!"
He rushed over to her, forgetting about the latch and leaving the door locked and shut. But as he approached her, she cocked her head up and faced him, still perched in a squat on top of the coup. Her eyes, huge and round, bore into his. Her irises were so blue it was as if they were staring straight into his mind.
"Are the chickies those fuzzy beasties in this big box?"
Momentarily stunned, he seemed to forget all about his surprise the moment she asked. "Y- yeah! Those are my birdies!"
She grinned, then leaped off of the coup, startling Brando again.
"Tasty…"
"N- no!" he said, and he quickly rushed over to the door, pressing his full body against it. "You can't! You can't eat my chickie-poos!"
"Why not?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. All of her movements were so quick, so jagged. She would be completely still, then bolt into action suddenly, like some predator leaping for some prey.
Well, he heard that she might be one of those predators, actually. The whole "Wild Child" thing that his older brothers talked about nonstop while he tried to sleep was strangely plausible with this girlie.
"Because!" he sputtered, "I love 'em!"
"Why?"
"Because!"
"Because why?"
"Just– because!"
She narrowed her eyes, but just as Brando was pressing himself up against the wood, practically cracking the wall, she shrugged and went back to grinning. "OK!"
Brando began to melt, falling to the snow with relief. "Oh thank goodness…"
Ricotta watched the whole thing as she wrangled the cows, slightly concerned, but overall, fine. Bones liked Brando, that much she could tell, which is why she trusted her to be so close to him. But she still couldn't quite understand who she was. Many times she asked the girl who her mommy and daddy were, but she didn't seem to get what that meant. And with how she leaped and jumped like some sort of wolf…
Those "Wild Child" rumors were getting more and more real.
Ricotta pondered what this could mean if it was true. As Brando and the possibly Wild Child chatted across the way, too far away to quite make out (although she guaranteed that he was talking to her about his beloved chickie-poos, that boy adored his chickens), she thought about it. If the girl was that wild girl, who stole stray livestock, wouldn't she just rush into the coup and take her son's birds, then eat 'em? Or did she bond too much with him to hurt him like that? And what if, the girl didn't have any parents, or family at all, as the rumors suggested, what would they do with her? They couldn't just abandon her to the wild again, no, that was cruel. And they couldn't send her away, no that was needlessly cruel too. She didn't want to hurt this girl, no. Brando liked her. Heck, she was starting to take a shine to Bones too, and she was certain the rest of her family was too. Her oddities were endearing indeed…
And besides, her youngest son needed a friend. The boy only had his little chickie-poos, and none of the neighbor's kids seemed to want to be friends with her baby. Not that she didn't like the fact that those neighbor boys didn't hang around her ranch. She didn't trust those troublemakers; they were worse than Husky and Furr with their pranks. And their parents weren't the greatest either, Ricotta supposed. Hence why she kept Bones inside for weeks; she didn't like the idea of them knowing about Bones.
But, well, they knew. Everyone in town seemed to know, at this point, and she decided there was no point in hiding it. Yeah, they found the Wild Child, allegedly. And now she knew what they were going to do with her.
Another kid. Heh. Ricotta never thought she'd see the day. But fate has a funny way of working out, she supposed…
With these sunny thoughts, she went back into the barn to finish up corralling the cows.
Meanwhile, the girl in question stood there, scrutinizing the coup. Brando was pouring seeds all over the… wooden things, and the birds were greedily chomping it up. She didn't quite understand it, but Brando was smiling, and chuckling about it. It was infectious, and she too found herself laughing, albeit she didn't know why.
"Why're ya even feedin' these, uh, these chickies?"
Brando, unperturbed, continued smiling as he gestured at them. Bones thought that they looked plump. She had had a few of these before, in other wooden boxes in other necks of the woods. They were tasty. They were a delight.
But Brando wasn't eatin' them. Why? Seemed like a waste to her.
But, he snickered, and went up to one of the nests, pulling out a round, white… thingie. He held it up, proudly like a badge. "They lay eggs! And we eat those, Bones! They're pretty good, you oughta give 'em a try!"
She made a "hm" noise, snatching it up and dangling it in front of her face. "Ya think I've never had an egg?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, have you?"
Bones stared up for a moment. Did she? She held the egg up to the window, staring at it. It seemed vaguely familiar. But to be fair a lot of things felt vaguely familiar. Like… words. She remembered words. Kinda. Brando's family had tried teaching them to her, and it was like she… already knew?
Sorta. She didn't get it, so she didn't ponder on it. Shrugging, she threw the egg back to Brando, who scrambled to catch it, falling over and putting it back in the nest. "Beats me," she said.
"Do ya not know nothin'?"
"Not really."
"Not even who yer mommy and daddy are?"
Walking out of the coup with her hands behind her head, she faced him. "Why do you lot keep askin' me that?"
"We're tryin' to find 'em!"
"Why?"
"Because–" he said, but he couldn't seem to be able to articulate his thoughts. He scrunched his face, but gave up, sighing.
But he was interrupted.
"Oh, well wouldja lookie-here!"
Bones, confused, pointed at herself, but Brando took her by the arm and gestured behind her. When she looked, there were two boys, both tall and lanky. Like Trotter, but not really. More like… Husky. And Furr. 'Bout their ages, she reckoned. And they both had this… look on their face. She hadn't seen it in any of Brando's family; they were too nice. This appeared…
Hm, she couldn't say.
It was strange to look at, honestly, but Brando wasn't wearing his smile, either. He instead clung to Bones, holding her arm tightly. In… oh. Fear.
She did know that one. She knew it very well.
"Still carin' after your precious 'chickie-poos,' neighbor?" the one on the right said. He was shorter, but wore the same little smirk as the tall one on the left under his hat.
Brando began shaking, and, instinctively, she began to connect the dots. Brando was frightened by these two. He was their… prey. What for? She didn't know, but as he stuttered out words, her thoughts wandered into dark places.
Were they going to hurt him? Brando? Brando, who came to her aid when she was out in the snow?
"Y– yeah," he said, "What about 'em?"
The two guffawed, and in the back of her throat, Bones felt a low growl form.
"Oh, of course ya are!" the right said, "You only ever care for those chickens, don'tcha? Don't ever talk about anything else…"
"W- what's wrong with that?"
"Oh, nothin', you weirdo farm boy…" Left said, "So typical. Kid only ever stays here! Don't think I've ever seen 'im out and about, only in and out of the house to feed those chickens. Loser goody two-shoes…"
They laughed, and Bones couldn't understand why. But Brando looked down, and a small drop of water came down from his eye. Instantly, she snapped her attention back to the boys. Her growl got louder, and she snarled menacingly. Only then did they seem to notice her. There was silence for a second, but then they began to laugh even harder.
"Is that the feral girl everyone's been talking about? Oh, that's just rich!" left said, in-between giggles, "of course farm boy Brando can only befriend an animal like her!"
"Hey!" Brando said, but his voice quivered, and this only enraged Bones further, "D- Don't be mean to her!"
"Or what?" right said, "You gonna sick her on us? Go ahead and try it, goody two-shoes!"
He looked down, dejected. Bones didn't understand why. She didn't get what any of these people were talking about. Or why it made the boys laugh and Brando so sad.
But what she did know is that they upset him, her favorite person. And she
saw
red.
With an earth-shattering scream, she lept at Left, and despite being twice her size, he went down instantly, and while on his stomach, she brought her fists down in the same way she did to the animals in the woods. She pounded him, again and again and again, not stopping. Not caring about his screams about feral girls, not caring about the one on the right trying to peel her off. She socked him in the face, and he went down with ease. Brando stood there speechless as she beat the boy up.
"ENOUGH! Brando, what is going on here?!"
She didn't stop, couldn't, wouldn't stop– not until something grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the boy. She continued screaming, thrashing against the constraints, not even speaking in a human language.
"Hey, hey– HEY! Settle down, SETTLE DOWN, BONES!"
Bones.
She froze up, and the hot red rage left her. She found herself floating. Floating…
It was that word again, the one they gave her. It was her, Brando's… uh, mommy, he called her, who said it. That woman who taught her how to read, and who put her on that soft squishy thing in the house. The bed. The one who washed her up, and gave her meals that she didn't have to hunt for. In a nice warm room full of nice warm people…
A family.
She had one too, didn't she?
She saw a face, obscured by sunlight, wearing a winning smile. A woman, and then a man, beaming down on her…
The words, she knew them before, didn't she? She knew words. Did she have a word? Bones? No, it wasn't Bones…
Why couldn't she remember?
"Bones! Apologize to these boys!"
She came to, with a gasp of breath. The boys, roughed up, stood, glaring at her, but at a distance.
"What's that?"
"It means you need to say you're sorry, Bones."
Sorry.
Yeah, she… she knew that one.
But why? They hurt Brando. No one hurts Brando, not on her watch.
"They should say sorry first!" Bones shouted, sticking out her tongue at the boys, "They made Brando cry!"
"Brando always cries!" said the boy on the right.
"That's not true!" Brando said. Unfortunately, he was crying.
Ricotta sometimes wished that she wasn't an adult. Petty squabbles like this… they were messy, and hard to deal with. She sighed. Maybe it wasn't the most responsible thing to do, but she just wanted this to be over with.
And she needed a little chat with Bones.
"..." she was reluctant to speak at all, but she sighed. She had to.
"Run along now then, boys," she said, "You better not yell at my Brando again though. 'Else you and your Ma are in for a talkin' to."
Bones wanted to protest, but Ricotta shot her a look, and the feral child seemed to shut down. She wasn't used to such… authority. Such power. The woman was something else. And while the boys spat on the ground and sulked, they still left. Just with a few Words.
Wow.
"You too Brando," Ricotta said, "I need to talk with her for a second, go in please."
Bones immediately glanced back up at her. No! Don't send him away! "But–!"
"No buts!"
The boy hesitated, but he grabbed his birdseed and went back toward the house, leaving her alone with the woman. Once he was out of earshot, Ricotta sighed, sitting down on the open door of the chicken coup to be eye-level with her.
"Wanna tell me what happened, Bones?"
The way she spoke to her was unlike anything in her memories. She spoke not like a stranger, but as if she held power over her. But not in a selfish way? She spoke like… like…
Like a mommy.
But that didn't make a lot of sense. She was Brando's mommy, not hers. Her mommy was… she didn't have one. She lived alone.
But the woman still spoke to her that way, as if she answered to her. As if she belonged to her, almost.
And Bones didn't know what she felt. Only that it was strange, new, and…
Comforting, almost.
But still, she pursed her lips and stamped her foot on the ground. "They made Brando sad!"
"So you… tackled and punched 'im?"
"Yeah!"
"Bones…" she shook her head, sighing, and Bones didn't know what this conveyed, only that it felt wrong. No, she didn't do anything wrong, did she?
"I know, that you've probably…" Ricotta chose her words carefully. She, quite literally, had no clue how to interpret Bones. As a person. Who knows what those years out there did to her? Alone, without anybody to care for her? What sort of things did the world out there, those wild woods, teach her?
"I know you've probably had a rough time, out there, Bones."
Bones cocked her head, and Ricotta felt a pit in her stomach. She didn't understand. Ricotta thought hard.
She was a mother. She could help her. She'd care for this girl. But she'd have to learn a few things.
"But the rules of those woods and the rules of here are different, and you've just gotta learn them."
"Whatdoya mean by that?"
"It means this," she said, and she leaned forward, taking her hands in hers and staring her in the eyes. Bones flinched from the touch, but didn't pull away. She hadn't felt this much affection since…
Ever. And she didn't know what to do with it.
"It means, kiddo, that you can't just kick and punch yer way outta everything. Strength might be good out there, but there's… more to it over here."
Bones stared, unflinching, and for a while, she thought that she hadn't got through to her. A pit in Ricotta's stomach ached, and a small part of her, a terrible one, was worried that perhaps she just… never would. Maybe this child was helpless.
No. No, she wouldn't accept that.
Then, like a miracle, Bones cocked her head, as she seemed to do often, and said two words, two words that implied gears whizzing and whirring over there, not damaged from her time away from the world
"...Like what?"
"Well," Ricotta said, "Quite a lot."
And she got right down to business with her. They had a lot to cover.
"...Moona?"
The teen glanced behind her, freezing ever so slightly. "What's up, Trots?"
"It's one in the morning."
"...shoot, it is, isn't it?"
"Why are you awake?"
There was practically no light seeping into the house at this hour; no fireplace lit, nor rowdy younger brothers demanding it to be lit. Not even that Rasher new girl was up. Her new little sister. That felt weird to say. Not that Moona had anything against Bones, she was perfectly fine, it's just… she made it hard to slip away. Light sleeper. Probably a result of the whole "Wild Child" thing. Which was still hard to believe, but Moona would deal with it. It just meant she'd have to try a little harder to stay quiet next time…
The only light that came was the moonlight that seeped through the window of her bedroom, and it was unfortunate that someone else happened to be roaming the halls at the exact moment she decided to sneak back in through it.
And Trotter was a little hard to fool.
To make matters worse, Moona didn't really know how to fool people.
"...nothing, Trots."
"No no," he said, "it's clearly somethin', 'cause otherwise you wouldn't be sneakin' in through the window."
"Who said I was doin' that?"
"The fact that you're halfway out the window."
Ah. Well, he caught her.
Moona wasn't sure why she thought that would work.
Sighing, she fell backward into the house, pulling her leg back indoors and landing on her bed with a soft plop. A groan escaped her lips as she stared up at the ceiling. Trotter sighed, and came and sat next to her on the foot of the bed.
"You went to go see him again, didn't you?"
A dry laugh, with no amusement in it. "What do you think?"
Before he could say anything, she held up a finger at him, her blank and tired expression not glancing in his direction. "Don't answer that. It's rhetorical; I know what y'all think."
She let her arm fall back down, and she still looked ever upward. Trotter, ever so silently (yet ever so loudly on those squeaky floorboards), got up from the bed, closing the bedroom window. Moona did glance at him this time, but didn't say a word. An unspoken tension was thick between them, and yet, when Trotter finally spoke, nothing on the matter was discussed.
"It's summertime, Moona. You don't want bugs in here, do ya?"
"It's too hot for that, open 'em back up."
"Mama doesn't want repeats of the mosquito incident, Moon-Moon."
But Moona wasn't listening, already dozing off on her pillow. It was hard, going back and forth late at night. Plus she had to help with the pigs in the morning… "Fair 'nough."
Two snaps, and she groaned sleepily. Trotter was squatting in front of her, and she sat back up, leaning over the bed frame. "What do ya want from me, Trots?"
"Ya gotta stop seein' 'im, Moon-Moon."
Putting her face in her palms, she said, "But whyyyyyyy?"
"You know why! Mama already told ya; he ain't the honest type!"
"He's the only type I got–"
"What about us? What about your family, Moona?"
"Look, I love you guys, I really do," she said, "You, Ma and Pa, Brando, the boys, even that weird bone girl that's apparently ours now. But…"
"But what, Moona?"
"I need someone else. I need him, Trots."
A yawn, and she leaned back into her pillow. "And that's all there is to it."
"Moona?"
But she was out like a light. Trotter sighed, and closed her curtains.
He could only hope that one day she'd get some sense knocked into her.
"What's that?!"
This time, Bones was pointing at a big screen, sitting in the center of their living room. It displayed a whole lot of water, like, a lot a lot of water. She was confused. A bunch of… moving images were on a rectangle in the Benoit's… her house.
But… but…
That… that didn't make any sense…
It felt like her mind was melting.
She stood frozen, not even touching the eggs her mother made for breakfast. Her legs were stone. Her eyes belonged to the screen. She could only stare blankly at it, voice caught in her blend of confusion and amazement.
"W…." What was that?
What was that?!
"It's a TV," said a voice, walking into the room. Free from her trance, Bones glanced backward at it, seeing Moona walk in, holding Bones's plate of eggs. "They give us power and a signal once a year to watch the Hunger Games over in the Capitol, like some sort of vanity project. Not that it's worth it anyways, but it's still nice, I guess. Now eat yer eggs, Cow Skull."
But Bones wasn't interested in eggs.
Bones was only interested in that.
"What're the Hunger Games?"
Moona shrugged, putting the plate on the coffee table. "Crimes against humanity, why?"
It was just then that her, their father walked in, putting his hands on his hips, "Moona Benoit!"
"What, am I wrong?"
Bones turned back to her, only to turn back to Rasher as he spoke. "Well, no but you– you can't just say that…"
"It's not like the Peacekeepers are watchin' us, what's the big deal?" she turned back to Moona.
"You don't know that–" to Rasher–
"You don't know that they are!" to Moona–
"But–"
Bones, however, grew bored with this argument rather quickly, and decided that she had enough. She jumped up, leaping onto their coffee table, then gestured at the screen. "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!"
The two stared, stunned, for a few moments, but then Moona went first.
But it wasn't about the… "TV."
"G…" she said, still blank, "Get off the table."
She pouted. "Not 'till you tell me what's this Games thing!"
A beat.
…
… …
… … … …
After a while, it was her father that spoke up, reluctantly.
"...well," Rasher said, hesitation clear in his voice, "It's a… sensitive topic."
Moona was unimpressed, as was Bones, "Didn't she… y'know, live in the woods for years on end? I'm surprised she doesn't have rabies, actually… yeah, she can handle it."
Rasher huffed, but sat down in the loveseat, glancing up at the screen. Did he really want to tell her?
…
…well, she oughta know.
"OK, OK, sit down and I'll explain."
And Bones did sit down, but in a weird, dog-like stance, still on the table. He sputtered, but Moona shrugged, sitting in their old rocking chair and leaning forward to listen in.
Best not to question it.
"Alright…" he said. Where to begin?
Where to begin…
"So," he said, finally, "You remember how we live in District Ten, correct?"
She looked upward, pondering it, but then turned back to him, nodding her head as fast as she could.
"OK then…" Rasher continued, "there are twelve of these districts. And all of them, each year, have to send in one little boy and one little girl to this place called the Capitol."
"Why?" the girl inquired. She stared at him with those eyes of hers, big and bright. Puppy-dog eyes.
His greatest weakness.
"...well, they have them fight in this big place called an… arena," Rasher said, but it was forced out of him. He glanced up at the screen, nervously. Should he really be telling this to someone who seemed to be about Brando's age?
"Why?"
"Well, they… uh…"
"They're forced to kill each other for the Cappy's enjoyment, and then they show the footage on TV."
In exasperation, he turned to the side, where his daughter was nonchalantly observing her hands for calluses. "Moona!"
Moona only shrugged, as per usual. "What? You were takin' too long."
While the other two seemed to get into some sort of argument over this, Bones didn't know what to say. They… killed each other? On the screens? In arenas? With… footage? What even was a footage? It– it didn't matter.
But just…
She remembered that long talk Ricotta gave her, a few months back. 'Bout how just because you're strong didn't mean you got to beat people up, because that was "uncivilized," whatever that meant. And she… sort of got it. In general, you have to be nice to people. You couldn't just flaunt your power and greatness for the sake of being powerful and great. It wasn't "survival of the fittest" over here, she told her. But what they apparently showed on these screens… it seemed a lot like it to her. Super uncivilized.
Only one word came out.
"...Why?"
The two stopped arguing to look at her, but as it always was, Moona went first.
"Vanity, mostly," Moona said. She was leaning forward with her head resting on her fist, looking perpetually bored. "Power, too. To tell the districts how 'weak' they are, or somethin' like that."
"Like animals?"
Rasher seemed to panic, shaking his head. Bones couldn't guess as to why, but Moona was giggling.
"Yeah," she chuckled, "somethin' like that, sure."
"Bones–" Rasher said, but soon, he became exasperated with his daughter. Er, his other one. "Moona! Don't encourage her! You know what'll happen if she says somethin' like that in public."
"Well then, she just–" Moona threw her hands up in the air, "–shouldn't do that."
She didn't really seem to get Bones yet.
"Why?"
They both turned to her. Rasher pinched the bridge of his nose as Moona hummed in thought. The man muttered something under his breath, something about her questions being worse than Husky and Furr. Which she doubted. Those two were nuts.
"Look, Bones?" Moona said, slightly more serious for once, "Just eat yer eggs. We're not gonna watch the Games anyways, so don't worry about any of that. Besides, it's just footage of District Four at their Reapings right now."
"Reapings?"
"It's where they select the kids who get to die. It's not fun! It's also where I was the other day, remember?"
"No?"
"That's fair enough."
Rasher sighed, a little annoyed with Moona but… well, she'd have to learn eventually, she supposed. He stood up to pet Bones's head. She didn't pull away from the touch, instead leaning into it, like a puppy. Curious. Perhaps his sons were right about the whole "werewolf" thing…
"Look, honey," he said, "Moona's… she's right about all that."
"Told ya!" came the call from the corner, but Rasher shot her a look, and she went back to staring out the window.
"But don't just go out and tell everyone 'bout this."
Before she could ask why again, he took her chin. Goodness, she was cute. It was almost surprising how such a nice little girl had lived alone in the wilderness for years…
Sad even. With no one to care for her…
Just a child…
"...the, Cappy, I suppose, hears a lot of things. And I don't wanna have them hurt you over it…"
She was silent, for a moment. He was worried that he had gone over her head, or perhaps hurt her feelings, if just a little bit.
…
But she grinned, giving him a view of her– goodness gracious those were sharp– teeth.
Was that a yes or a no?
Apparently, it was a "what's that?" at the screen. At the big blue on the coast of District Four. Ah, a new topic. It was almost endearing how quickly she changed focuses. So cute, just like Brando at that age…
Well, actually, based on what the hospital said, seven whole months ago, the two were likely the same age. Ten.
…meaning that she'd have to get sent to the Reapings too, two Games from now.
The world fell out from under him with that thought. That thought filled him with dread, and anxiety, horrible anxiety. A pool of dread the size of…
"That's the Ocean, Bones-y." Moona said, "It's… it's just a lot of water. In the same place. Like, a lot. Imagine the woods but just… all water. With salt in it too, so you can't drink it!"
"Oooooooooo…" Bones cooed, staring at the screen.
He didn't like that thought. He didn't like it very much at all.
But of course, what could they do?
Months passed by like seconds, it seemed.
The summer passed, as did the autumn, and the winter, and eventually the spring. And the family, the Benoits, took in the strange girl, and she became almost like a sister to them.
No, not almost. The parents coddled her like the rest of their children. Trotter would show her around town and sometimes buy her a treat from the candy store, just like what he did for the others. She pulled harmless little pranks on the neighbors with Husky and Furr, and well… when things went too far, Moona was always there to bail them out.
And then there was Brando. The family was… worried about him for a while. He didn't play with the other kids, the neighbors seemed to dislike him. But him and Bones…
Well, Bones spent the most time with him, by far.
They'd tend the chickens together, and she'd herd them back into the coup when they got out (on all fours, but that's just how she was). They'd play games together, laugh together, and Bones even let him wear her skull (he decided it wasn't his thing, but he appreciated the gesture). And the neighbor boys left him alone now, as a single glance from her sent them packing. No siree, no one wanted to mess with Bones Benoit.
And, at night, when it rained…
BOOM!
She sat face up, gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide open, and for a moment, it was as if the past year hadn't happened, and she was nothing but a wolf, lost again in the woods, listening to the sky crash and shatter in a flurry of light above her.
BOOM!
And now she was nothing but a rabbit, running from the wolves, and she clawed at the bedsheets, whining and clutching the fabric for dear life as she stared directly into the wall. The curtains were drawn, but still, light flashed through. Her heart raced in her chest, and with every thump her thoughts clouded more. She couldn't think. She couldn't move.
CRACK! BOOM!
And there she was, falling again, the world fell and twisted around her, with the sky shattering, split in two with a single crack of lightning, and a boom so deafening the crash couldn't even be heard. The people who held onto her did so no longer, and the tears of the sky cascaded onto her, blending with her own as she screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one
no one
heard a thing.
"O…!"
"...O…!"
"...–ones! Bones!"
The blood rushing in her ears, the pounding in her heart, the trance, the terrible trance, all seemed to rush and intensify at once, in one horrid, awful moment, choking her very life away, as Brando approached her, candlestick in hand.
And it got louder and louder and LOUDER AND–!
then it stopped.
It stopped.
"Bones!" Brando said, and he hopped on next to her in the bed, placing the candle on the nightstand, "Bones, you were sleeptalkin' again!"
She held onto his hand, still not fully comprehending the scenario.
"Are ya OK? I know you, y'know, hate the lightning storms and such…"
Her breaths felt deep, as if she had to remind herself to breathe in and out, over and over again…
Bones could only manage to shake her head. She didn't know what could've possibly come over her. It's just that the storms… she… it made her feel…
It reminded her of…
Of…
She held Brando tight, and almost pleading with him, stared straight into his eyes. "Please don't leave me! Please don't!"
"O– OK!" he said. He didn't really get why, not really. He could understand that she was afraid of the storms, but not why.
She didn't know either.
But he didn't leave her side.
She wasn't…
She wasn't alone.
Not tonight.
Not like that night.
"Moona."
The voice, distinctly Trotter's, was muffled. Quiet. It came from upstairs, but Bones could make it out. She was just great like that.
A response came back, but it was too quiet for her to make out.
OK, so maybe she wasn't that great.
Or maybe… they were just really quiet.
Bones knew the site of every squeak and bump in the floorboards, and effortlessly, like a wolf in the night, she slipped through the hallway, keeping low to the ground by the staircase. The voices, while still faint, were legible now.
But, a strange voice in her head chastised her.
'That's private, Bones.'
She wasn't sure where it came from, but she elected to ignore it.
But it decided not to ignore her.
'Go back to sleep, Bones.'
"No…" she whispered to herself. But, unmistakably, it was Ricotta's voice speaking to her. Mumsy's. Well, not really, but she spoke to her all the same.
"What did I tell ya 'bout snoopin'.'
Not to…
'And what are ya doin'?'
…that.
But she couldn't just ignore this, could she? She had to stay and listen. She didn't know why but– she just had to.
Now she just felt guilty about it…
Regardless, the voices upstairs continued down the line, starting with Moona.
"Look, Trots, I can't, I can't I–"
A pang went through her. She didn't know why.
Moona?
"We told you he'd leave you when things got tough, Moona. Why'd ya stay? Why didn'tcha dump 'im when ya had the chance?"
"I couldn't Trots, I just, I–"
There was a noise that, after a year, Bones had become faintly accustomed with. It was a noise so terrible, so awful, that just hearing it caused her to flinch, then catch her weight on the banister to not fall over and cause them to hear her.
Moona was…
She was…
Crying.
But that didn't make any sense. Moona didn't cry. Moona was… chill, as Brando described her. She was kind and happy. She worked in the butchers, for goodness sake, nothing fazed her. Nothing made her cry…
Except this.
"I just–" a sniffle, "I needed someone else Trotter–"
"Why?!"
"Because I– I…"
…
"Moona…"
"He told me," she said, voice breaking, "he told me we'd always be happy. He told me he'd always be there. And I thought– I thought that no one believed him just because it was far-fetched…
"I just thought that… I dreamed we'd be… together. Forever. And I don't know why I wanted him, Trots. I don't know why he made me feel like what I had wasn't enough for me…
"He drove me crazy…
"Now he's gone. He found out that I was, y'know, and just— left!"
There was another 'bout of silence, and despite not knowing what they were talking about, not in any way, for a moment, she felt a drop of water flow from her eye.
She touched it, and knew what it was already.
…why was she crying?
There was shushing from the upstairs, from Trotter, and the sound of crying was stifled and jagged. Yet it was omnipresent.
"It's OK…"
"No, it's not, Trots!" she cried, albeit quietly, "How am I gonna tell 'em? They told me to leave 'im alone, and I didn't listen! Now I'm all knocked up, and I– I don't know what to do!"
The sobbing grew to its peak, and Bones…
She followed her mother's advice, and went back to sleep.
She was twelve now, they told her. They didn't know her actual birthday, so they just decided that it would fall on the day they found her. But she was twelve, and so was her best friend, no, her brother, Brando.
And it was on this cool winter's day, or, actually, a few days after it, that the news of Moona's pregnancy broke out to the rest of the family.
The girl was eighteen now, and the rest of the family gathered around the living room, asking questions. But Bones was, uncharacteristically, silent. There was hugging, and crying, and tears between family members, but still…
It… it made Moona… cry.
It made her… cry.
He made her feel alone, and sad, and afraid.
"We told you he was no good!"
"I know, Mama, I know, and, and– oh, please forgive me, please–!"
"Moona, we–"
She was crying again. But all of it felt so distant, so far away.
"Moona, you don't need to ask for forgiveness, sweetie, you don't–"
"But I– I–"
"We'll deal with it together, alright honey? Together…"
That was all Bones picked up.
She didn't mean to ignore Moona, she was just… distracted. By Moona. Later that day, she went to see Brando about it, and he shrugged too.
"I just don't know, Bones," he said, "I don't know how this could've happened…"
"What does pregnant even mean?" Bones asked. They sat on the staircase, as the discussion continued in the living room. Being the youngest two, they sent them off, but they still watched. Brando scratched his chin.
"'Means that she's gonna have a baby."
Bones cocked her head. "From where?"
"Her tummy! That's why it's so big right now."
"H…" she asked, but stopped midway through. That… well, she'd seen it in nature, but she didn't… get it.
He practically read her mind, and responded to her. "I dunno how, Bones."
She overlooked the family, talking about things too serious for twelve-year-olds in the living room.. Moona was still crying, but her parents were still there, hugging her, telling her it would be alright… and so was Trotter, and even Husky and Furr, for once.
She gulped. "I hope she's alright…"
"I do too, Bones."
She didn't even feel him hug her.
She was too confused, too baffled.
Because… because she couldn't bear to see this. She couldn't.
Moona deserved so much more.
And someone had… had made her cry.
Someone made her family cry…
And that filled her with anger.
When she fed the chickie-poos with Brando that summer morning, her parents had her dressed in some odd piece of cloth. "Formal," they called it. A was… black, and flowy, and went down to her knees.
She hated it.
"Why do I gotta wear this, Mama?" she complained, exiting her room. She usually wouldn't have even glanced at it, but her mother was adamant that she would put it on.
"Aw, it looks so good on you!" Mama said. But despite that cheerful smile, her mother was solemn. Bones could tell. She was sad.
She clenched her fist. "What's the matter? Who hurtcha? Who do I gotta go after, Mama?!"
But Mama only sighed. "No one, Bones… no one at all."
"But somethin's wrong!"
"Nothing you can fix, Bones," she said, turning away from the girl. "It's Reaping Day."
Oh.
Oh.
"That… that thing with the Hunger Games thing?"
"Yep," her mother said. It was… sad, but resolute. "But… I really shouldn't be worried, I guess. It's Moona's last year, after all, and with so many people in Ten… well, it's unlikely any of you sweethearts'll bite the dust."
Bones shuddered at this, but only because her mother didn't seem to believe her own words. And then those same words got to her. She shuddered, shuddered at the thought of… Husky, or Furr, or– or Brando– or… Moona.
Oh, especially Moona! She was super pregnant now. The baby should come out any day, they say. And yet she still had to go to this Reaping thing.
And she could tell that Mama and 'Pops didn't seem to like this whole thing, but…
Well, she didn't know. She'd never been before.
"Go get your brother, Bones," Mama said. That smile was back, but there was too much behind it for Bones to accept it, even as she playfully ruffled her hair.
Bones hoped that this would go away soon. Everyone was so sad and scared and– she hoped they'd all go back to normal soon, and then they'd just wait for the baby together, as a family. She and Brando could go back to feeding the chickie-poos and brainstorming baby names, and they could pretend that this freaky "Reaping" business was all just a bad dream…
Because she hated seeing them like this.
She had never seen this many people in her life. It was almost offputting, just how many people were all lumped together in these pens, the same kind of pens they used for the animals. But Bones just found it curious. She was up toward the front, wearing her Cow Skull and staring up at the stage through the holes in its eyes. It was big. And that was the only way to describe it really. Everything here was just so big. The everything was HUGE!
Strange devices and strange screens were at the top, displaying the front of the stage for all to see. As a woman spoke on stage, they were all Bones could put her focus on. What sort of devices were those? They were like the "TVs" but so much bigger, and so much louder!
Wait, was that woman's skin gray?!
She just had… so many questions for when she got home, but this overload of information was cut off short the instant the lights went dark, and a video was shown on screen. Not just of what was happening, but a whole series of unrelated moving images… how did they make such a thing?!
It was so much that Bones didn't even pay attention to what it was saying.
She had so many questions for when she got home, so many!
And then it ended, and Bones went right back to staring at the woman. She was smiling, much too much, to the point where Bones found it kinda gross. Then she went to some… bowl, labeled… something. "Boys," she thought? Reading wasn't her best subject.
She took out a piece of paper, and read it aloud. "Willows Cross!"
And then, from the other side of the pens, a voice cried out.
A voice that was… crying.
Time slowed down. The boy, Willows, no older than her, was dragged upstage, in tears. Tears she hadn't seen since… since Moona…
And that's when the truth hit her in full force. Oh, yeah. The reason they were here.
This boy was going to die.
They were going to kill him.
He was nothing but prey.
She felt sick, suddenly, to her stomach. She wanted to go home.
But the woman still smiled, and Bones couldn't understand how. She just killed that boy, didn't she? A wolf wasn't so gleeful when it betrayed its pack, was it?
But no, she wasn't part of this pack. And Bones found herself growling, baring her teeth in fury. She wasn't one of them. She was a rival. She was a–
A name was pulled from the other bowl.
Everything fell.
Two words. Two words, in slow motion, two words that ended everything, that killed her, over and over again. Two words, a name, that shattered her to her core.
"Moona Benoit!"
Her heart stopped in its chest. Crestfallen, she stared at the ground in disbelief.
And it pounded once. Moona escaped the pen, and gasps, all muted, came from everyone. They could see her tummy. They knew.
It pounded twice. There was a muted sob as she waddled toward the stage.
And thrice. She was… crying.
And four times.
And five.
And six, seven eight NINE–
It all came back, just as Moona, in hysterics, in ugly, messy, tears passed her in the front row.
And Bones saw r e d .
"NO!"
The shout was so loud that the entire congregation instantly was silenced.
The girl SHOT out of the pen, climbing up the very side of the stage at the speed of a lightning bolt, until she was at the feet of that unnatural, evil gray woman. And once up there, she could hear riotus screeching from the crowd, and the sound of those people in white, those Peacekeepers marching toward her. But she couldn't see them. She couldn't hear them. She could only hear the gasps of shock and horror as she blitzed over the side of the wall, taking the woman by the collar of her shirt and shouting, howling striaght into her face.
"LEAVE MOONA OUTTA THIS!" Bones was not in control, only rage, feral, animalistic rage was, "LEAVE HER ALONE! DON'T YOU DARE HURT HER! DON'T YOU MAKE MY SISTER CRY– YOU MONSTER!"
"Bones?!" Moona shouted, hobbling as fast as she could up the stairs. In the corner of her eyes, she could see the Peacekeepers aiming fire at the Wild Child, and she gasped. No– no! No, they can't, no NO NO–
"Please, no! No, stop it! Stop! Bones, get away from there, they'll KILL you!"
But Bones wouldn't back down, dropping the Escort, and facing Moona again. And Moona could see that she was gone. She was a feral girl now, speaking in mania and growls. It was a horrifying side of her, a side Moona had never seen.
And it was on her behalf.
"No, I won't, Moona!" she screamed, pure anger being extoled from her voice, "You'll die in there, and I can't– I won't! I won't let them make you cry! I'll do anythin'!"
"Anything, you say?~"
The Peacekeepers took aim, and Moona felt the world leaving her–
But the Escort, smirking, raised a hand, and the guns dropped. The crowd quieted.
What?
"Anythin'." Bones repeated. Moona was confused. Where was this… going?
The woman laughed, leaving no idea of what on earth she was doing for Moona to interpret as she spoke at her little sister.. "Well, young… Bones, was it? And you're Ms. Moona's sister, so… Bones Benoit, I presume?"
Bones narrowed her eyes. She didn't trust the woman, but for the time being, wasn't attacking.
(Moona was crying.)
She did not approach her, but carefully, with teeth barred, she nodded. "What about it?"
"Well then, Bones," the woman said, emphasizing the name as she ever so slowly waltzed toward the girl, "What if I told you there was a way to… save, your precious sister, and that baby in her too?"
In a truly horrific moment, Moona realized, and lost her breath. No! No, that was too far! That crossed the line! They couldn't, they just couldn't! "Bones you c–MMPH!"
A stray Peacekeeper, who picked up on the message, suddenly covered her mouth. Bones barred her teeth and growled, and was about to lunge at this man and make him PAY for harming Moona, but the woman spoke up first. "Pay her no mind, Miss Benoit, for she will be safe and sound after all this is done… if you agree to this."
"How so?!" Bones snapped. Her fists were balled, and slowly she approached the woman, who was still smirking as if nothing was wrong.
"There is something you can do," she said, "You can… volunteer to take her place, Miss Benoit. If you decide to go and fight in the glorious– Hunger Games!– in her stead, then she won't have to leave, and no harm will befall her…"
The moment the words were spoken, Bones took the chance. No way, no way would she let Moona die on her watch!
Reaching over to the woman's now outstretched hand, she shook it vigorously. Moona's heart fell, but she was powerless to stop the exchange as she watched the Wild Child die in front of her eyes. "Deal!"
The woman smiled darkly, shaking the girl's outstretched hand. Oh was she getting such a promotion over this… it would make excellent TV!
"...Why?"
The whole family piled into the small room, and all of them, every single one of them, remained shell-shocked and horrified at what had just transpired. It was Brando, precious Brando who said it.
They were all crying. Why? She could come back. They said one could come back, and it would be her.
But they were crying. Ma, Pa, Brando, Moona, Husky, Furr, and Trotter… they were crying. Why? She fixed everything, she fixed it, she saved Moona, she…
Why were they, why were they still–
"P- please stop it!" she said, closing her eyes and clutching her head. It was all just too much! Too much! They– they shouldn't be– why were they–! "Stop cryin', please! It's not like I'm gonna die, I can come back, right? Stop cryin', stop it stop it stop it!"
"B- but Bones," Husky said, "What if you don't?"
"I will!"
"But what if ya don't?" Furr asked, hiding toward the back of the pack.
"I've gotta!" Bones shouted, clutching the skull as if everything depended on it, "I'm not– I won't leave you!"
The room was silent. And she was kneeling on the ground, breathing deeply.
She… she wouldn't. She couldn't. She…
She…
She…
Slowly, Brando approached her, his best friend, his sister. Now… now she was crying too.
He hugged her, tight, as if it was the last time.
It could've been, for all he knew.
Then, Moona came down. She couldn't kneel well, with her pregnancy, but she did her best.
Then Trotter.
Then Ma, and Pa.
And then Husky and Furr.
And for a moment, a sweet, short moment, before she was sent away, the tears stopped. They all left.
No more crying.
They'd finally stop crying.