Timber

Chapter Seven: Always

Hazel rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The moon's shadow danced over the knotted boards. Rest was the farthest thing from her mind. A continuous replay of the events of the Capitol's broadcast swirled behind her eyes. The images of the old arena being demolished, the towers of aerosolized stone, and then, of course, that daunting blue stare.

A new era.

Snow's voice reverberated against her skull. She scoffed in an imaginary response.

It was just a creative way to market the Capitol's slaughter of district children.

The room was stuffy, almost suffocating in its stillness. Pulling the blankets over her nose, she listened as the twins snored softly in their bunk. After another hour of chasing sleep but only running in place, she couldn't take it anymore.

Maybe a glass of water would help.

Quietly sliding out of bed, she tiptoed over the creaking floorboards. Once out of her room, she entered the darkened hallway, but something made her freeze.

Voices, low, tense and coming from the living room.

Slithering toward the noise, she recognized Fern and Orens' voices. As she peaked around the corner, she could make out her parents hunched near the dying fire in their hearth.

Fern shifted uncomfortably on the worn loveseat, her fingers intertwined in her lap. Her blue eyes held a guttural concern. Seated beside her, Oren was rigid but more composed.

"It was a message," Fern's voice faded in.

"Complacency isn't an option, Fern."

"But they are showing us what they can do, Ore. They want us to know they can and will change the rules whenever it suits them."

Oren, his gaze locked on the flickering flames, nodded slowly. "Even so. We can't let fear paralyze us. We must be wise, but we can't cease fighting for what's just."

Fern's voice trembled. "And what of Hazel?"

"What do you mean?"

Fern shivered, "What happened with the peacekeepers? You think it was an accident?"

"I know it wasn't."

"And yet you persist." Fern shook her head, wringing her hands tighter.

"What kind of example would I be setting for her or any of them if I didn't stand up for what's right? I can't, in good conscience, not use my position for the betterment of our people and our country."

"You're risking too much," Fern insisted.

"Protecting our district, our home... isn't that a fight worth fighting?"

Fern's voice softened, carrying a note of vulnerability that was rare for her. "And what about Garth? Have you thought about the consequences of that?"

Garth... Garth...It sounded vaguely familiar.

The curiosity itched at her, a puzzle piece that refused to fit anywhere in the mental picture she had of her world. She sifted through her memories, associating them with the faces and names she knew in District Seven, but nothing clicked.

Oren sighed, "I have. But it's not just about us. Others suffer more. So much more, my love."

Fern's eyes glistened. "It won't be the other districts that pay the price."

Oren's expression hardened. "I know the risks. But doing nothing... that's not an option. We have a chance to make a difference." Their hands met, Fern's trembling fingers seeking Oren's. "I'll be careful, love. But I can't promise to stop. Not when life and death are on the line."