Timber

Chapter Thirty-Three: Arrows and Allegiances

A sharp cry of pain pierced the air as Hazel's pulse reeled. Owen came to an abrupt halt, glaring down at his impaled shoe. The deep blue, feathered end of an arrow protruded from the rounded toe of his leather boot. He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, his eyes darting from his foot to the surrounding trees behind Hazel and Silus. Beside him, Grace froze; her arm fell limp at her side. Her dilated pupils brimmed with alarm but also something similar to acceptance.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the District Seven tract. Stray strands of ashy blonde hair clung to his forehead, framing a face marked by a tight jaw and light grey eyes that sparkled. A sleek, navy-blue bow stretched taut between his hands. A new arrow was already nocked, ready to fly at his command.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Ethan announced, a dry amusement coloring his tone as he surveyed the scene before him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards while he examined the toe of Owen's boot.

Owen, wincing, extended a hand towards the feathered shaft, but Ethan's stern warning stopped him. "Go ahead and leave that there," he advised, the tension in the bowstring increasing subtly as he pulled back just a fraction more. Ethan's footfalls barely disturbed the dirt beneath his boots as he moved with a hunter's fluidity toward Grace and Owen.

Festus had never said they had an alliance with District Twelve. Yet, the blue feathered arrow that adorned Owen's shoe spoke louder than any formal agreement could.

Aaron, still clutching Mia's arm, glanced back and forth between Ethan and the two District Nine tributes, a look of realization washing over him. Seizing the moment, he helped Mia to her feet, and they limped across the last stretch of the field. Mia's eyes sparkled with gratitude and shock, even as her body trembled.

Ethan's voice carried as he addressed the tributes from Nine. "Wasn't expecting you two to be the ones ambushing Seven and Ten." He continued to move toward them with deliberate slowness.

Deep moans escaped Owen's throat as he struggled to draw in short, ragged breaths. Grace, with her spear now dangling at her side, shuffled, her eyes darting over her shoulder, a fleeting glance filled with unease. "We're just doing what we have to do."

As Hazel observed them up close, the evidence of their encounter with the Capitol's peacekeepers was unmistakable. A deep purple bruise, now turning a sickly shade of olive, almost completely obscured Owen's eye, with just a hint of his light blue iris peering out.

Grace bore purple and maroon bruises that bloomed like wild roses along her jaw and extended down her neck, while her clothing was spattered with dried, rusty brown stains across the sleeves and front. The reddened, chapped skin around her wrists peeked out from the cuffs of her shirt. "Maybe we can align with you guys?"

"Hmmm, depends." Ethan's voice lowered. "Either of you got a handcuff key on you?"

After a few silent moments, Grace shook her head, "No."

"Then, no, go on that alliance, darlin'." Ethan's eyebrow arched, and he tilted his head. "How'd the cuffs come off?"

A strained look passed between Owen and Grace. Grace bit her lip, and the two of them lingered in an awkward stance. But no words found their way to Ethan's question.

"If you don't have it, then someone else does and took the cuffs off for you?" Hazel found her voice despite her throat still feeling like sandpaper.

"Can I just... take out the arrow?" Owen looked back up at Ethan with his pale cerulean eye.

"Answer her question, and I might consider it," Ethan, un-swayed, inched forward, his bow still trained on the pair. "And go ahead and drop the spear, honey, while we're at it," Ethan directed his bow toward Grace, using it to indicate her limp, spear-wielding arm.