The Hanging Tree Games Tasks

Task Four: The Rains

This was definitely the funnest entry I've had to write (not sure why), at least so far, anyway. I received a score of 14! :D Enjoy!

Intent upon tracking the bloody footprints of Noah Smith's killer, Sartan's hands unconsciously curled into two tight fists. The wind had died down long ago, and intense heat had taken its' place. Sweat beaded across Sartan's forehead, as he painstakingly searched for and found each and every footprint. It was an agonizingly slow process; one that nearly overwhelmed him with frustration about his blindness, except a different feeling rolling around inside him pushed everything else away.

Revenge.

The grass underneath his hands and knees as he crawled along was soft, but the texture was dry and brittle-too dry. He frowned, thinking how strange that was, but quickly brushed the thought aside.

At last his hands brushed against leaves, and thorns pricked him. He moved the limbs aside, and continued following the footprints.

The smell of freshly disturbed dirt wafted to his nostrils and he felt around in the dirt with his hands. There were clumps of dirt scattered around, as well as tracks from where someone's hands and knees had scuffed it around. He followed after the tribute, moving at a much quicker pace than before.

A twig snapped ahead of him, and he paused to listen. The light thudding of hooves against the ground reached his ears, and he heard the sound of a deer bleating in alarm. There was a loud crashing of brush, as if a large object had quickly moved through them.

Someone cursed loudly, and Sartan heard a weapon scrape against the bark of a tree somewhere to his right. "I've been tracking this thing all day, and one simple misstep and it runs off? How are you supposed to catch these blasted things?" The voice sounded familiar, but Sartan couldn't quite place it. His tone was hostile and livid, and judging from the noises of scuffles in the dirt, he was acting like an angry two-year-old.

"I'm stick of this crap! I never learned to hunt, so why in the world should I have to try to follow this thing around all day, wasting my time? And where's the freakin' water? I'm thirsty!"

Ward Limn, Sartan thought. District five male. The name finally appeared in his mind, and he just then realized how slow his thought-process was becoming. All he wanted to do was sleep. Answers and solutions weren't coming to his mind as quickly as they should have been. The word thirsty rolled around in his head, tempting him, reminding him why he was so tired in the first place.

His mouth was dry and thick, making it difficult to swallow, and the more he moved, the more he felt as if everything was spinning.

Anger bubbled back to the surface in Sartan's chest, and his hands balled into fists again. He realized that Ward was the one he was looking for.

Ward had killed Noah.

Suddenly, he darted toward him, using Ward's still-ranting voice to pinpoint exactly where he was standing. Before he could protest or object, Sartan tackled him to the ground, and immediately started furiously pounding his fists against Ward's face continuously.

Every time his hands delivered a new blow, his mind flashed to Noah's death, to his sister's death, and he craved the grunts and gasps Ward made. Pain flared in his middle and he rolled on the ground.

"What the heck, man? What did I ever do to you?" Ward demanded.

Sartan spit dirt out of his mouth as he rose to his feet. "You killed Noah." Every word was a sharp hiss like metal grating against metal as anger pulsed in his veins.