ást og stríð [treech]

i i i

Treech and Lamina were the fifth pair of tributes to be picked up. They were taken from their cells in the underbelly of the District Seven Justice Building to the train station. A train with some sort of livestock car was waiting there to take them to the Capitol. It had been a few days since the reaping.

So far, the train had picked up the tributes from District Four and District Ten. He couldn't tell where the other four were from, their clothing didn't give away any hints. Treech assumed they were Districts Two and Five, assuming the train was only picking up the tributes from the western half of Panem. Treech didn't speak with any of them. He didn't talk to Lamina either. Though he was never one for casual small talk, now seemed more necessary than ever.

On the third day after the Reaping, the train picked up the last two tributes before it made the trip to the Capitol. It was late, so all of the tributes were asleep, except for Treech. He assumed the pair was from District One, since it lay between Seven and the Capitol. The boy stepped into the car first, keeping his head low. He was tall and strong-looking, with neat sandy blond hair. The girl was small and unassuming, but held her head high. She looked around, assessing the competition, before her eyes landed on Treech.

Treech was taken aback. She was beautiful. Her pale blonde hair was pulled back in a long braid. She had a heart-shaped face that would normally be inviting, but her features were stone cold. The girl glared at Treech with ice-blue eyes, nothing but anger reflected in them.

The boy sat down across from Treech and Lamina. The girl seemed reluctant, but it was the only available space.

"Sit," the boy told her.

The girl frowned at him. Treech could tell they most likely hadn't interacted much before the reaping. The girl seemed to be mistrustful of both her district partner and everyone else in the train car. She surveyed the others with cool calculation, as if she was sizing up her competition.

"What are you looking at?" the girl asked Treech, her face twisting into a less-than-flattering scowl.

Treech glared back. "Nothing, Princess."

The girl rolled her eyes at him. Treech immediately decided he couldn't trust her. He couldn't rust anyone here, not even Lamina, but especially this newcomer. There was something in her eyes that told him she was trouble.

"I'm Facet," said the boy, his face turning red in the dim light. "She's Eydís."

The girl, Eydís elbowed her partner in the ribs. He jumped.

"We're not here to make friends," she whispered.

"I know, I thought it would be polite," said Facet. He turned to Treech "What about you?"

"Treech. That's Lamina."

Treech didn't say anything else. He was hoping if he kept his conversations short, Facet would stop talking.

Facet turned to Eydís and began to speak to her in a hushed tone. The two seemed to be arguing about something before Facet closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Eydís remained awake, staring at the wall above Treech's head. At least she wasn't looking at him anymore. There was something unsettling about the way she looked at him: like she was figuring out how to kill him in the slowest, most painful way possible.

...

From the moment she laid eyes on him, Eydís knew Treech would be trouble. When she arrived on the train, all of the other tributes were asleep– except for the attractive boy with curly black hair. After that, Eydís didn't take her eyes off of him for more than a few seconds at a time.

Eydís was good at reading people. She knew their weaknesses. For instance, Facet, though he was capable and strong, lacked self-confidence and a drive to succeed. And Lamina, though she was peacefully sleeping, had tear tracks running down her face. Her weakness was her emotions, her fear. The small boy from District Four was small and young. His district partner seemed protective of him, given her close proximity to him. Eydís hypothesized that she would lay down her life to get the boy out of the arena. But Treech, she couldn't read him. He was a mystery, one that she wasn't sure if she wanted to solve.