The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

27. His Choice

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

I swing my legs. Hadrian and I both sit perched on the edge of a cliff. We’re only eight or nine metres from the water, but that’s still enough to give us broken bones. Especially if the water is shallow.

Hadrian is holding the twine that runs down to the hook he made.  Every few minutes, he recasts the line. I think he might be just as hungry as I am.

“Yeah, about that. I’m beginning to have my doubts. There should be fish feeding somewhere this shallow, but it’d be better if we weren’t so hungry,” he says.

I sigh irritably. “So now, after we’ve spend who knows how long setting up your fishing stuff, you decide that this probably wasn’t the best idea?”

“Yep.”

He pulls up the line, and wraps it around into a compact ball. He shoves it into the pack, frustrated.

“What do you propose we do now?” I ask. “The sponsors have their reasons for not sending us food.”

“Oh yeah?” Hadrian says, examining his trident. “How do you figure that?”

I breathe in, and roll my eyes. “Because if they didn’t have a legit reason, do you think that we’d be sitting here trying to catch or fish? Or would we be eating gourmet Capitol food?”

“I’m just winding you up,” Hadrian says. “But I reckon I’d still prefer the fish. If I actually had a choice.”

“I’ll bet you’ve eaten your fair share of Capitol food,” I say. “You are a Career, after all.”

He smiles and shakes his head in a knowing way. “Just because I’m a Career doesn’t make me from the Capitol.”

We stand in silence for a moment. I look out towards the lake. There must be thousands of fish spread out in there. Hadrian should be able to catch just one. I’ve heard that the District Four residents don’t always fish with hooks; quite a few of them use tridents and nets. Hadrian must, as his reaction and skill is way past what is required.

“Hadrian! You use a trident to fish, right?”

It comes blurting out of my mouth, so quickly I’m not sure if he understood any of it.   It takes him a few seconds, but he manages to understand it and form a reply.

“Yes.”

He drags out the word, confused by what I’ve asked him. He’s thinks about it, and then he understands.

“You’re suggesting that I go down a slope of grass, completely visible to anyone who cares to look, and spend at least twenty minutes standing in the water, waiting for a fish, again, completely exposed, and you’re going to...do what?”

“I’m going to defend,” I say, holding my axe up.

“Aha. Well, great plan. I like it,” he says, in no way short of enthusiasm. For once, there’s no sarcasm, venom or indifference mixed in. Although, I can’t tell if he’s flirting or not.

It takes a half hour to find a slope. The cliff drops off suddenly to a hundred metre stretch of dry grass.

“Are you sure the Careers definitely won’t be on the move until tomorrow?” I ask. Even though I don’t remember eating since yesterday, my idea suddenly seems unnecessarily risky.

Hadrian’s face is shadowed by the overhanging leaves, masking his features. I can still dig up concern. I don’t blame him; I can’t fight nearly as well as he can.

“I’m really not certain of anything,” he says. “But taking into consideration what you did to Arabella, and the fact it’s too late to make a move, I’d say that we’ve got maybe twelve more hours up our sleeve.”