The Beasts of Us [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

FENCES II. Caspar.

The blade swung around level with his head. Caspar ducked. At his opponent's feet a wolfhound growled, showing her teeth, but he knew she wouldn't touch him and he could ignore her safely. As the sword sliced through the air he struck forwards himself, expecting soft flesh; instead there was only empty space, and he hopped onto his right foot to make up for the inertia. The sword came around again, this time threatening to embed itself in his hip. He met it with his own. The clang rang around the whole hall. With their blades kissing, he lashed out with his foot and hit padding. His opponent let out an 'oof' - the wolfhound yapped - and staggered backwards. Caspar saw an exposed wrist, a hand without power behind it. He grabbed it and jerked, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to disarm, and knocked the sword aside with his own as it fell. From there he tugged, ignoring the fist that glanced off his shoulder, and brought his blade up and under the opponent's chin, stopping just short of a deadly thrust. The grizzled man he'd been fighting raised his hands. Yielding. Caspar released him, lowering the sword, and bowed his head. The whole thing had taken a matter of seconds.

"Good." Instructor Craggs was a man of few words, but he used them well. "Watch the eyes, remember."

"I was watching your eyes," said Caspar, who knew full well that he hadn't been.

Instructor Craggs grunted and dropped the sword back onto the rack with a clatter. "Knives next?" There were some on the next rack. He set about jamming them into his belt. "You let me hit you," he grunted. "Why?"

"I can take a hit. And you weren't armed."

"I could have been."

Caspar shrugged and chose a few knives, trying to surreptitiously shake out the dull ache in his shoulder. Misty, mouse-formed in his pocket to keep her out of harm's way, emerged and dropped to the floor. Halfway down she changed, landing as a frilled lizard with her neck ruff unfolded. She preferred scales to fur. He wasn't so sure that he did; he would never have admitted it to anybody, but he quite liked having something furry and warm to curl up next to him at night. You couldn't do that with a lizard. But Misty liked it.

Knives selected, he strode up to where Craggs was waiting by the target dummies, nicked with scars. Some, he knew, were his. Most weren't. There were injuries here caused by boys and girls who were adults now, boys and girls whose children were here now, boys and girls who were dead now. He wasn't too keen on knife throwing, but he was happy to add some more.

He span a knife in his hand and stepped into a throwing stance.

"Stop." He faltered, glancing at Craggs. The bearded instructor was scowling at him. "You need to stop showing off, boy."

"Sir?"

"Taking hits you can dodge. Spinning blades. Flips on the obstacle course. That nonsense."

"He thinks you're good," came a new voice, echoing down from the gallery over the gymnasium. Caspar snapped to attention without thinking about it. The man resting on the railing above them flapped a hand. "At ease, Atticus." Caspar lowered his arm and Misty dropped back to all fours. Next to them, Instructor Craggs relaxed as much as he ever did. "He thinks you're good," the newcomer repeated, "but he doesn't understand boredom. That's it, isn't it? Boredom?"

He resisted the urge to look down. "Yes, sir."

"Craggs?"

"Sir!"

"May I borrow Atticus for a while?"

Misty's form flickered in surprise. He didn't dare to lower a hand to her, not with the Head Instructor watching, but he felt the flutter of it in his own stomach and swallowed, hard. Craggs shot him a glare. Wondering what he'd done to deserve this kind of attention, he dropped his gaze. He knew that he answered him back sometimes, but Craggs had been his instructor for eight years and he felt he knew him well enough to be comfortable doing so. He'd never said a bad word about Head Instructor Lewin to anybody. He'd never got into any fights, even when the older trainees tried to provoke him, even when he knew he could have broken all four of their limbs before they could even get a grip on him.