Survivors

Chapter 3: Xain

Chapter 3: Xain

            “When is the fight?” I try to sound sensitive, but it comes out too concerning.

            There’s a brief silence as Izzy stirs her beef stew. She’s barely touched her dinner—thick beef stew and bread—since we sat down about 20 minutes ago.

            “A week from tomorrow,” Izzy answers with her head still down at the table.

            Silence again. It's been so silent without Abi, who decided to give me and Izzy time alone. I don't know where she disappeared off to. I don't see her around the dining hall at any table in sight. I catch sight of the dark-skinned girl—my number one fan—a couple of tables from my view. I've never noticed her before now.

            “How long have you known I had...a fan?” I ask, hoping to take her mind, at least just a little bit, off of the fight. Izzy sits up, turns, and stares straight at the girl. Her gaze holds for about 5 seconds before she looks back at me.

            “Abigail was first to point it out,” she starts to answer, “It was about 3 months ago, when you were off in jungle arena.”

            I remember that. It was a Survivor match in what seemed like a rain forest, but no one, with the exception of the game makers, was allowed to know the location of the arenas. It was a world event, so I was against 23—four fighters from each continent, excluding Antarctica—other fighters. We were given the opportunity to ally with our own continents, but after a while, they were wiped out, leaving me.

            “That girl stayed glued to the screen every second while you were on it, which was a lot,” Izzy continued, “When you were hit with an arrow, she jumped and gasped in fear. But when you pulled it out and still managed to fight off the attacker, and damage him pretty well, she almost let out a sigh of relief. She kept talking to the screen as if trying to talk to you, telling you what plants to use for medicines and food, how to mend your wounds, when an enemy was nearby,” Izzy chuckled, “She even seemed to have picked up the bow because of you.”

            “Really,” I chuckle out and look at the girl, who is talking to a girl with blond hair. She's a medic. I know because she repaired a small cut on my arm once. She seems shy.

            “Yeah,” Izzy is now in a full smile, “She saw how you were able to feed yourself and take out fighters from afar with a quiver full of arrows, so she just picked up a small bow and began practicing.”

            “Is she any good?” I ask, trying to imagine someone that small trying to fire an arrow at a target. I was about the same size at her age.

            “She can fire, but not perfectly,” Izzy answers with a slight smile, “She nearly killed one of the trainers one time, but other than that, she at least fires the arrow at the target and most of the time gets it to stick. They hit nearly always.”

            “Well,” I smile towards the girl, who is joking with the blond medic girl, “I guess I should make her my apprentice.”

            I look back over at Izzy, who is now back to her solemn mood. Was it something in what I said? I reach out and touch the hand that's not occupied with brushing her eyes—I assume tears.

            “Izzy, I...” She cuts me off with a head shake, hand over her eyes.

            “No,” she says as she grabs hold of my hand with both of hers, “It's not you, just...” she bites her pale, pink lips, “just promise me you'll take care of her.”