Timber

Chapter Five: Shadows of the Past

Exiting into the brisk evening, Hazel quickened her steps. A twinge of guilt nagged at her. She promised Silus she'd head straight home, but she pushed it aside, telling herself she'd be quick.

The market, a collection of stalls and small shops clustered in the town center, was still open, though several vendors were beginning to pack up. The place was a vital hub for the district, providing access to various foods and goods, some locally grown and others sourced from farther afield. The selection was often limited, dictated by the district's remote location and the Capitol's control over supply chains.

With Oliver securely strapped to her back, Hazel navigated the narrow pathways between stalls, each filled with wares. She passed by crates of freshly cut timber, the scent of wood shavings mingling with the fragrances of the market. The vivid colors of fruits and vegetables, the few items considered a luxury, caught her eye.

She deliberately steered clear of the apple stand, shaking her head at the thought of seeing any more apples.

At one stall, she selected a medley of root vegetables – potatoes, carrots, and turnips – their earthy scents mingling as she gathered them into a woven basket. The bread she chose was still warm, its crust crackling under her touch. It emitted a comforting aroma of freshly baked grains and yeast.

A nearby vendor displayed jars of preserved meat, their contents sealed within glass vessels. Hazel carefully selected one, and its label indicated the contents as venison.

Her fingers brushed over a flat of pickle berries, their vibrant red hue catching her eye. She added a couple of them to her growing collection, knowing they were Lily's favorite treat. The pickle berries' sweet and tangy flavor would undoubtedly make her younger sister smile.

With her purchases securely stored in her bag, Hazel felt the warmth of the fresh bread seeping through the fabric. As she exited the bustling market area, her steps quickened.

As Hazel moved further from the town center, the houses became fewer and the structures more sparse. She could see the faint glow of lanterns and candles flickering in the windows of the shacks, casting a warm, if not melancholy, light in the growing darkness. The outskirts of District 7's main town center were markedly different from its bustling heart. Here, the houses gave way to simpler, poorer dwellings. She passed by several handmade wooden shacks crafted with plywood. These rudimentary structures, resembling single-room boxes, were cobbled together from spare lumber and essential tools.

Some residents had even set up tents in the woods, though this had become increasingly difficult. Hazel noticed the absence of the usual small trails leading into the forest, a sign of the Peacekeepers' recent crackdown. Even the freedom to camp for recreation, once a cherished part of life in District 7, had been severely curtailed.

The path she followed became less defined, winding through the outskirts where the neatly arranged buildings of the town gave way to a more haphazard arrangement.

In the midst of this landscape stood a modest and solitary shack. It was constructed from weather-beaten planks that had endured years of harsh conditions.

Approaching the humble shack, nestled just beyond the fringes of the town's tree line, Hazel's steps grew hesitant. Her heart pounded erratically. A heavy silence enveloped her, amplifying the rush of thoughts in her mind. Gathering her resolve, she murmured a quiet pep talk under her breath before extending her trembling hand to grasp the door handle.

With a determined push, the door protested with a long, creaking complaint, revealing the shack's sparse and dimly lit interior. A palpable heaviness hung in the air, thick with the pungent odor of stale gin that clung to every surface. It was a scent that had become a familiar part of Hazel's visits to this place.