Reaped for the 66th games Rowell felt as if everything was over. Even having training by her father, she felt like she would join her sisters fate as a decided unremarkable tribute. That is intill she wins.
Rowell Castor from my A message to those...
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The head trainer made all tributes stand in a circle lined up all pretty like puppets for their amusement as she began explaining the training schedule.
The capital had employed experts in each skill to work at each station. Giving the tributes free reign to travel around each station as they pleased. The academy trained tributes always headed to the weapons first to show off, Spark had told her. He had also told her to not do the same, she needed to blend it.
The problem was, Rowell had spent her whole life being taught to blend in. Wasshe good at it sure, did she enjoy doing it, certainly not. There were stations to train survival skills and others for fighting techniques. All tributes were ultimately prohibited from engaging in any combat exercise with another.
Rowell's eyes looked around at her fellow tributes, eyeing them up to assess their potential, as usual the academy tributes from 1, 2 and 4 looked particularly deadly, and were all shooting glares at her. Well almost all, the girl from one had shot her spar glances and winks all throughout the trainer's speech.
She needed to take Sparks advice, head to the survival station, needed to Blend in. Yet as Rowells eyes scanned the room they caught on a weapon. Her weapon. She just had to try it out, but she had to follow instructions.
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Well, Rowell thought, other tributes are training with weapons, if I need to blend in, I should do what they do?
The first weapon that caught her eye was the spear. She felt that showcasing her skills was important, without giving away her best skill. And while maintaining the pretence that she was following her Mentors instructions. Although she had as love for uncommon weapons, she was used to holding a spear like weapon from her time training at her own district.
After some time examining the weapon, gaining a feel for the weight distribution, Rowell felt ready to throw it, and moved toward the dummies to aim at. She missed the dummy by a few feet, having not put enough force into her throw. Rowell went to collect the weapon but was stopped by district 1 interrupting her, the female tribute looked interested, and the male looked enjoyed, clearly pleased by her failure. Putting more weight into her throw, this time as she threw it, it didn't land at the feet, yet the abdomen. For the next hour she thew and thew, never missing once. The female tribute from one's eyes never left her for this time, observing every throw she took. Clearly criticizing Rowell in her own head.
