Timber

Chapter Forty: Out Of the Frying Pan

Ethan knelt, preparing a blue feathered arrow amidst the rustling stalks; the arid wind made the maize tilt and bend. Hazel analyzed the field as she rummaged through her pockets. The corn was golden and dehydrated with hints of green. Fingers crossed, it is dry enough to burn.

As if on cue, the warm wind picked up with her thoughts. Hazel's subdued panic prodded at her mind while she retrieved the remnants of unused fabric from Festus and added cobalt blooms to the makeshift bundle. Starting the fire was potentially more than a distraction.

A blaze could be deadly for whatever tributes were still in the corn, let alone a fire poisoned with Sapphire's Breath. But she was not going to wait around for Caleb to find her or, worse, find Silus. On the other hand, Hazel refused to delude herself into thinking she could best Caleb in physical combat. Hell, she couldn't keep a bottle of pills from him in a kitchen, and that was when he wasn't armed with God knows what kind of weaponry. She assured herself under her breath. It is necessary, unavoidable. What other choice was there?

"You'll need kindling of some kind," Ethan's voice broke her concentration.

In the distance, voices rose in loud, indistinct bursts—likely, they had discovered Eve.

Hazel reached into her shirt pocket, extracting the card from Snow. With trembling fingers, she split the card into two, pocketing the bottom half, and starting to shred the top part. "The odds are in your favor," she mused. There was bitter irony in dismantling Snow's words of reassurance, as those very odds were currently hunting her.

"What was that?" Ethan inquired, nodding to what was left of Snow's message, little papery scraps in her palm.

She could feel Silus's gaze. His eyes lingered on the card for a moment longer before they settled on her. She added the torn pieces to the pouch with the Sapphire's Breath, sealing the fabric ends with shaking hands.

She shrugged, "Just one of Festus's love notes." Her smirk was fleeting as she added, "If he wasn't thrilled with what I did to his last gifts, he's definitely not going to appreciate this."

Silus maintained his silent observation, his expression unreadable. His silence spoke volumes. We'll talk about it later if we aren't dead.

Hazel signaled for Ethan to stand, and they both rose as quietly as possible. In the distance, voices grew louder, closer even. Despite the dry warmth of the breeze on her face, she shivered as if it were the dead of winter, sweat beading on her back and palms. Hazel struggled to tie the pouch to the arrow's tip, her hands trembling so violently she feared she might cut herself.

"Steady," Ethan urged, his grey eyes meeting hers as beads of sweat trailed down his face from the ends of his hair.

Once the pouch was secure, Aaron retrieved the Capitol-engineered fire starter from his bag and placed it in her open palm. A small, detachable compartment at its base housed the high-efficiency tinder—Capitol ingenuity; she scoffed to herself. Yet, here it was, a beacon of hope and destruction intertwined. Light and darkness all in one, just like Gaul had warned.

Ethan readied the arrow, pulling back on the bow with precision.

"You think this is a good idea?" Aaron asked, eyeing the pouch, running a hand through his hair before resting it on the sword at his waist.

"We don't have much of a choice," Silus murmured.

"You got any better ones?" Hazel inquired, but Aaron averted his gaze, shaking his head. "The flowers should incapacitate anyone within several meters of its smoke, and hopefully, the corn is dry enough to catch fire, which will distract them if the flowers don't."