Timber

Chapter Three: A Shift in the Air

"Holt," Silus warned, sending a stone-cold scowl to the burly annoyance.

"It's fine," Hazel waved a dismissive palm.

Inwardly, she was anything but fine. She was painfully aware that her family's history wasn't exactly private – parts of it had been broadcast across Panem, after all.

Yet, she wasn't accustomed to people probing so blatantly into her past. Especially one she had spent so much energy trying to keep at bay. With a forced smile, she tried to brush off the topic. "With how things are now, who hasn't lost an uncle in the Hunger Games?"

But Holt seemed either unaware of or indifferent to her discomfort, pressing on with a keenness that bordered on intrusive. "Cedar, wasn't it?"

The sheer lack of tact made Hazel's forced smile falter. Holt knew the answers but asked them anyway as if it was some kind of cruel entertainment.

A flash of Cedar's auburn hair crossed Hazel's mind, tightening her chest. "Yes, his name was Cedar."

"You remember him?" Holt continued, undeterred by the rising tension.

Hazel swallowed hard. "I was just five when he... when he died..."

How do you describe how tributes die?

Do they just die?

Are they murdered? Sure.

By other tributes? Sometimes.

By the Capitol? Always.

"Can we not do this now, Holt?" Silus warned. However, Holt was as dull as he was relentless. Hazel found such traits often went hand in hand.

"Isn't that when your dad spiraled into alcohol? After your mom left him?" Holt's voice took on a taunting edge as he leaned closer, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

Hazel forced a laugh that bordered on a fully blown scoff. "Wow, Holt, do you know my favorite color but want to pretend to ask me what it is? Are you that bored or..." she whispered, "have you been dipping into Birch's stash?"

Holt merely shrugged, his expression calm. "Just got me thinking, what about the reaping and all? You know...about things."

"Sounds awful dangerous for the rest of us." Hazel retorted, earning chuckles.

Rowan stepped up, his body tense. "What's your angle, Holt?" Holt's eyebrows raised as if he were surprised, but his crooked smile hinted that he had only achieved his goal, at least partially.

"Row, don't worry about it. People are curious; it is okay. Let's get back to work," she attempted to persuade, failing miserably when Holt ignored her altogether.

Holt's smile widened unnaturally. "Just curious, is all."

"Why don't you go be curious somewhere else." Rowan's voice sounded like it could cool the air temperature.

"Row," Silus warned, sidling closer to his younger brother.

Holt raised his dirt-streaked hands in a mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just wondering why someone like Fern would ditch Heath for a man... well, like your dad."

Holt had always been antagonistic and simmered in his fair share of drama, but he had never been this directly confrontational.

Rowan surged forward. "The hell is your problem?"

The crowd of lumberjacks paused their work, their attention fixed on the rising confrontation.

"Row, don't." Silus's hand latched onto Rowan's chest. "He's not worth it."