Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Thirty-one: Arrangement

So much has happened.

So, so much.

I suppose it’s best to convey things chronologically.

First, my Pilgrimage.

As is custom (for Nine or for my family, I’m not sure) the groom and his family must make a formal visit to the bride’s family. This is to ensure that everyone is properly introduced. So Mom, Dad, Rye and myself all packed up a few changes of clothing and began our journey north. Elsabet lives as far north in 9 as possible, apparently. We’ve been traveling for several days and have come across practically no one. The rickety horse-drawn wagon (I honestly didn’t know these things still existed) moves incredibly slowly. I feel sorry for the horses, who are so thin I can see their ribcages. It makes me worry about myself. And every other person in Nine, we’re all malnourished.

Rye was so excited. He kept chattering like a Jabber Jay and bouncing around in his seat like a child would. It was strange to see him so happy. Normally, he’d wear this sour expression on his face. Now he’s all smiles and happy-go-lucky. It’s a nice change from the grumpy man living in a treehouse, but on some level I miss the old Rye. He’s been spending more time inside the house, though he still won’t enter his blasted room.

The ride has been horrendously long. We have to stop often for my father, who got special permission to leave the hospital for the event. His burns are healing slowly, but they are healing. He looks a bit like he used to, though I think there will be more than one noticeable scar left when he’s fully healed.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more boring, we finally arrived. There was a small woman with a large mess of black hair doing something that involved her lying on the ground. I could make out the pale patch in the black mess that could only have been the crown.

“Elsabet!!” Rye called, leaping out of the wagon and bounding towards her.

“Rye!!” she replied, standing up. I noticed an ugly black thing stuck to her leg. And, while he was running, she was barely limping forward.

“Miss…” the driver said as I scrambled down after my mother and father. He held out his hand. I knew there was something in it from the way his hand was held. I extended my hand and he dropped a folded piece of paper into it.

“Um, thank you,” I replied.

“Take care. Walk softly and carry a big stick,” he said as he continued delivering the goods he was transporting to the northern factories.

“…and this must be Fiore,” someone with a gruff voice said suddenly behind me. I squeaked and spun around. A large man with more muscles than I thought possible was looming over me, a strange grin on his face.

“Yes, my youngest daughter,” Mom said tightly.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I replied, curtsying then holding out my hand like my mother told me to do.

He bowed, “I’m Louis Catraione. This is my wife Mashka, my eldest son Nikolaus, our youngest son Hans, and Elsabet, the middle child.”

Elsabet had ultra-long jet-black hair and large eyes that were a strange color of purple. I’ve never seen anyone with purple eyes before. Unless they were from the Capitol. Her skin was milky white and flawless. She was small and dainty looking, like a fairy. Except for the black thing, what I now saw was a leg brace. Her expression was worried, like she was frightened. She sort of cowered behind Rye. Nikolaus was tall, with a mop of dark brown hair and piercing grey eyes. He reminded me of trees in the winter, with no leaves and dark, dark trunks… spindly and lonely and cold, but strangely comforting. Hans must’ve been close to me in age, for he looked the youngest. His hair was a sandy brown color, and set off his dark skin perfectly. He must work in the fields, to have that color skin. Dark, murky eyes glared at me. I swallowed any fear rising in my throat.