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FIFTEEN ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ
❦
On the third day, the sky of the arena was encompassed in a dense, black cloud. It hung low and menacing, obscuring the miles of land that was ripped apart by lava. One girl- a young, slight thing from District Eight- had already succumbed to the rivers of red, made invisible by the smoke. Another had suffocated in a cave, a fate Freyja had only narrowly escaped.
The District Seven tribute lay choking on the stone, her hands gripped around her throat. Her brown skin was chipped and worn from the dangerous heat, her hands dry and bloody from scrambling up rock faces. Cillian felt Johanna's hand grip his arm as they watched.
She tried to stifle her coughing, holding her breath and placing a hand over her mouth as the sound of tumbling rocks alerted her to a new presence. But as a splutter left her lips, Freyja stood and took off running, hopping over the thin veins of lava that led to chasms of heat below.
Cillian felt as if his heart was in his throat. Johanna's nails bit deep into his skin, but the pressure was a comfort- at least he knew she was there.
All it would take was one stumble to go crashing into fire hot enough to melt skin. She would disappear in seconds, never to be seen again. But the alternative was not much better. The District One girl pursued her with quick, careful feet, skipping over the lava veins as if she'd memorised a map. As Freyja skidded down the side of slope, hoping to gain metres in front, the girl jumped, landing on her shoulders, forcing her to the ground.
Victoria- the girl from one with the gleaming green eyes and bright blonde hair. Even after running for miles through the stifling arena, she looked clean and careful.
Freyja kicked and shuffled, clawing to be released from her hole, but Victoria held a hand over Freyja's lips, muffling a scream.
"Truce, truce," she rushed out, making Freyja's eyes widen. "I want to be allies."
The Capitol watched as chaos ensued in the arena.
Reaching high above the shouts on the screen and the murmur of excitement in the thin crowd, Eirlys' voice pierced his ears. "You really must be trying harder, Cillian, if you want this to go anywhere worthy. The President only ever picks a few victors to join the winner's celebrations each year."
She was wholly serious, dividing her attention between him and Freyja's face on the screen. Johanna had long left their side, standing with Giselle by the back of the hall, their varying shades of red hair the only thing visible amongst the bright colours of the Capitol people. It was good that she was gone. Johanna wasn't as good at dealing with the Capitol escorts as he was. Cillian had longer to practise.
"Is this really what you want to talk about right now?"
"What else would we talk about?" Eirlys said, bringing the drink flute to her lips, sipping only a drop. "We have nothing to worry about. Nothing but your participation in this competition. Caesar hasn't talked about you in days. Days, Cillian, while he's had mountains to talk about Finnick. The man is practically in love. Days!"
