Embelia falls asleep on watch, only jolting out of her restless slumber at the loud caw of a bird, cursing herself for being so careless. She shakes her head to rid herself of the dregs of sleep, taking a slow breath.
Wilona is still beside her, still clutching her arm, still alive– though her breathing is fitful and erratic. Embelia looks down at her, absentmindedly reaching out to tuck away some of the blonde hair that's fallen out of the girl's braid. She must have been a pretty girl, before all this. Embelia remembers those bright blue eyes, how striking they'd been. Embelia supposes if she makes it out of here, they might be able to fix it, give her back her eyes.
It's a nice thought. It's an easier thought to stomach than the truth that Wilona won't ever be allowed to grow into her round features, that her eyes won't ever shine so blue again. Embelia sighs, closing her eyes against the soft luminescent glow of the forest and resting her head against Wilona's.
For a moment, she pretends. Pretends they'll both get out. Pretends they'll both heal. Pretends they'll both grow up.
It's a nice pretend world.
Embelia is watching Wilona when she goes. Before the cannon can sound she feels Wilona's tight grip slacken, hears as her laboured breathing slows to a stop and watches as the pain finally leaves her. The boom of the cannon sounds tinny in her ears, nothing over the ringing that fills her skull like cotton insulation.
There's a moment of nothing after the cannon, a dead silence but for the sound of the arena's nocturnal ambiance. Wilona's face falls forward and her hair falls loose again. Embelia rushes to tuck it back behind her ear.
Embelia had hoped in being with Wilona, she might have an inkling of knowing the boy whose life she ended in the bloodbath. But Wilona is nothing like Byte.
Byte had been dead. Bloody, and broken, and so dead.
Wilona could be sleeping. She is warm, and looks no different than she had when she was alive but for the wounds over her eyes. Embelia thinks for just a moment, she can pretend it's true. She could gently trace her thumb over Wilona's freckled cheek and kiss her forehead, murmur nothing to her and wrap her arms around her, hold her close and lull her back to her rest. She imagines herself doing it. She's not a sentimental enough person to actually comfort the dead girl. And she can't be so weak. Not now.
She'll cry when she's out of here. Or maybe she won't.
So she simply rests her head against Wilona's, hoping that perhaps her friend felt safe in her last few hours.
When the chirping forest goes silent, Embelia heaves a terrible sigh and lifts Wilona from her shoulder. She unlaces their arms and lays Wilona gently down in the brush. She stands then, gathering her things and casting one last look at her. Nothing shows on her face. She can't let it, or the truth might leak through the gaps.
So she walks off, hand trembling where it grips her spear.
Embelia walks until she can't feel it anymore, only stopping when the feeling has spread so thin it's become numbness. She tucks herself between two trees, crouching down and waiting for morning. She'd like to cry, but she doesn't know if she remembers how.
She's staring at the sky when it lightens from black to grey to blue, sunrise waking the arena. Embelia doesn't move as she listens to birds awaken, listens to new bugs take the place of old ones. She knows she should stand up, keep walking, wander aimlessly in hopes that her path will cross with Korren's.
Korren. God, it feels like a lifetime since she's seen him. A lifetime since she even thought his name, though she knows it's only been hours. When a bird lands in front of her she gasps softly, startled from her trance. The bird blinks at her, tilting its head as she drags a hand over her face.
Voyeuristic bird, she thinks. No doubt a camera of some kind. She glares at it, tired of faking some slick persona for the cameras. Not today, not now. She just needs the day. How many are left now, seven? Six? Maybe there's a day left. Or maybe things will slow down. She likes to hope the Capitol is still enjoying the aftermath of Embelia killing her career allies, and however the girl from Four died. Maybe they'll be happy to let them all rest for a day to spend countless hours analysing everything.
Not that she thinks everyone in here will want to rest. She has no doubt Venus is hunting her right now, and that Four is prowling the arena. Still, a few days with no mutts and no natural disasters. A grace period where the tributes only need to fear each other. That would be pretty generous of them.
As she stands, she sighs and resigns herself to the fact that generosity doesn't exist here. Not in the arena, and especially not in the Capitol. She pushes back a strand of curly hair and rolls her shoulders before beginning to walk, wondering if it's worth saving some of the bread and cheese in her pack to share with Korren. She's not that hungry right now– or, well, she is, but she's well equipped to handle hunger. So as rain begins to patter against the leaves above, Embelia sips slowly at her bottle of lukewarm water.
The rain breaks some of the stifling heat of the forest, and Embelia turns her face to the cool water with a sigh. False rain, like the rain in a terrarium, but cold all the same. She takes a deep breath in now she feels her lungs aren't full of water, looking forward and continuing on her aimless path.
She supposes she ought to actively search for Korren, but what can she do but wander and hope it's the right direction? She hasn't seen him since the night before the games, not a trace. She has no hints, only hope. If she were Korren, where would she hide?
Probably the same place she would hide– anywhere she could. In truth, she knows that the chances of finding him are far too close to zero, but what can she do but hope she's on the right track? He's still alive, that much she knows. There hasn't been any unaccounted for cannons, so hope is what she'll have. He's out there, and that's enough.
The day is empty. She walks for what must be hours in the rain, and there's no cannons, no nothing, only the birds over her head and the ever-present trickle of water on her head. When it stops, she stops. She wonders if the gamemakers had been hoping for something exciting to happen in the rain, a dramatic battle in a dramatic setting. Maybe it has, far from Embelia. She supposes that's good– it'll keep the gamemakers and the capitol entertained and they won't demand any action from her.
With the rain letting up, Embelia moves to a quiet cluster of trees and bushes and settles down on her knees to get to work on purifying the water she'd collected. She puts the drops in and seals off the bottle, sighing and looking around her. As much of the jungle is, the spot she's found herself in is beautiful. Colourful flowers bloom over her head and all around her, lush green setting the backdrop for colours that almost seem to be unreal. Her eyes fall to her left, where pink and yellow flowers shaped like trumpets dangle from thin branches. She squints hard at them, trying to remember if she's seen anything like it in any of her books.
She leans over, gently lifting one of the flowers and sniffing it. Her face scrunches up at the sickly smell. It's a mix of all sorts of scents, sweet and spice and floral, almost to the point it seems fake. But it's too well formed to be any sort of man-made creation, she thinks. The capitol doesn't have the same vision for evolution as nature does. She pulls her hand from it, a few drops of the rain's dew coming off on her fingers. So, she's certainly never seen it before, but there's no reason she can't at least identify the genus. She lifts the flower and cranes her neck to see the base of it, wincing when her finger is pricked by a thorne. She pulls her hand back, putting the fresh cut to her mouth and pressing down.
And oh, this place has made her stupid. So, so stupid.
As soon as she feels the dewdrop against her lips, she knows she's fucked up. Severely. Human instinct has led her down a bad path many times, but none that have yet proved to be her end. She's just put the nectar and pollen of a foreign, unknown plant in her mouth. And it could do absolutely nothing, yes, but it could also kill her. She might not make it til the next morning.
She pulls her hand away from her mouth but too late. "Damn it," she curses in a whisper, wiping her hand on her pants before dragging the back of it over her mouth. "Damn, damn, damn!"
She stays there on her knees, frantically wiping at her mouth and spitting whatever saliva she can muster onto the ground. It's a disgusting thing to do, but she decides death would be more disgusting. She scrambles for her water bottle, hands falling to the damp underbrush as she loses her balance.
And, slowly, as she waits on the forest floor, a blur creeps into the edge of her vision like she's stood up too fast– though she hasn't moved from all fours. Embelia sucks in a slow breath, trying hard to fend off the upcoming dizziness. She shakes her head, gasping for breath though she doesn't feel starved for air.
Is her throat closing over? Is she losing oxygen? Is that why it feels like she's floating? She sits back, leaning on her heels as she blinks slowly. The forest looks different, blurry, sort of swirly. Breathing feels so strange, she can hear it, taste it, smell it– oh, there's a frog on the tree. She leans forward again, squinting at the colourful amphibian. She places her hands on the ground once more, shuffling toward the frog.
"Wow," she murmurs, and as she inches closer the frog meets her eyes. "Your eyes are so red. Like blood."
The frog croaks. Still staring at her.
"I know why," Embelia whispers. "Mhm. To scare off predators. Clever. So clever. I should do that."
What an idea! Embelia should get red eyes, then she could scare off Venus. It's genius. Wilona had those bright blue eyes, maybe those were for predators too. But they hadn't worked– or had they? Embelia hadn't killed her. Wow… what a concept. She'll get red eyes, and they'll work even better. She stands, grabbing her bag. "Thank you, frog- shh! Don't shout." She slams a finger over her lips, eyes wide. "I have to whisper. They're anywhere."
Her bag is secured to her back and Embelia turns in a slow circle. If she were red eyes, where would she be? She looks into the forest, and a little floating light appears for her. A little creature, it must be, a wisp of gaseous light asking her to follow. Who is she to deny it? She begins on her path with the lights guiding her way, the setting sun only giving the guides more room to shine. They get brighter the closer she gets, until they stop.
But there's nothing here, Embelia thinks, turning in a slow circle. She squints out into the darkening forest, wondering if the red she needs will be hiding in the bioluminescence. She stops in her turning, seeing something glinting in the distance, shimmering and moving like… like water. It must be the river. Embelia hasn't seen the river since that first day.
There was something about the river, something important, something Embelia really should remember. But if she can't remember it, it must not be that important, right?
She's sure it's fine. There's something important for her at the river, she knows it. So she goes.
Walking is a little hard. There's bugs that are trying to push her over, make her fall, but she swats them away, waving her hands around her head. She can't see them, but she knows they're there, trying to tip her over, making her sway and stumble. Wretched things.
They don't manage to tip her over before she reaches the river bank. Beaming, she drops to her knees in the mud and hunches over, gazing at herself in the still water.
It's hard to make herself out in the dimming light, but that's her alright. She leans down closer, inches between her and the water. No red eyes, she sees.
Only gray. Eyes from someone else, someone she doesn't know, can't know. His eyes. But no- no, they're hers. They're in her face. She stole them from him, that's what. She huffs triumphantly, thankful to have stolen her eyes from the strange man. She needs those.
When she blinks, though, she sees red lights in the water. Red– red lights, red eyes, she needs red eyes. She lifts her hand.
(Don't touch the water mustn't touch the water.)
She stops. There's something in the water she shouldn't touch. There's mangos in the water– mangos?
But mangos are good! What's so bad about mangos in the water? Embelia's not afraid to reach past a few mangos to get the red eyes she so desperately needs. Biting her lip in excitement, she reaches for the water.
As soon as her fingertips brush the surface, something stops her. Not just stops her, in fact, something pushes her away. Embelia gasps as she's thrown back onto her ass, looking up in hopes of seeing what pushed her away. She didn't feel anything touching her, so it must have been magic.
A monster. The monsters in the river– oh, god, it wasn't mangos, it was those ravenous fish! She didn't know they could do that! She looks at the water and the red lights are dancing beneath the surfacd, red and vicious and tricky. The red lights had been a trick, to get her beneath the water so they could rend her to nothing but bone. She doesn't realise she's screaming until something slams down over her mouth.
The touch feels like something soft, smells of linen, like worn down fabrics made soft and loving by years of use. A touch she'd long forgotten. She looks up again when she's tugged further away from the water, searching for more of that sweet, careful touch.
"Stop screaming!" A distorted, muffled voice hisses into her ear, long arms wrapping around her underarms and dragging her out of view of the river. "Don't scream, you're safe! Damn it, Em, what were you doing so close to the water?"
And she sees it wasn't the river fish that pulled her away from the water and the tantilizing red lights.
It was Korren.