The Beasts of Us [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

ARENA V. Creedence.

Shrill was a flash of red among the trees. They were good trees, similar to those in Twelve; stacked precariously against the rise of the valley, with mossy roots that broke the surface and disappeared again at random. Many were too thin to climb but she'd found one that wasn't, right up at the highest point, and now she was nesting in the branches like a bird, peeling bark from around the trunk and smudging moss into the ever-decreasing patches of bare skin left on her arms and face. Shrill called down to her from the branch above, where she had a clearer view.

"I can see them again."

"Good for you."

They were watching, for lack of any other entertainment, the pair from Six. She'd seen them emerge from the opposite side of the valley and onto the landscape of rocks and streams, the boy needing to stop and rest on the girl, her little fox-daemon sliding along next to them. For a few hours she'd been able to see them clearly as they wove around, trying to find a clear path through the rocks, but away from the valley the rocks got bigger and bigger and now she couldn't see them more often than she could. They were quiet some way away. Both of the humans were the size of her bitten-down thumbnail, the daemons even smaller.

"There won't be much food out there," she offered.

Shrill took the hint and plucked her another leaf. She chewed on it absently. They tasted bitter, but she'd eaten them back in Twelve and they were harmless. Better something in the belly than nothing.

"Be time to sleep soon," said her daemon.

"Sure."

Shifting her weight carefully, she untied the strips from the branch next to her. They'd been torn from her shirt, which she'd needed Shrill's help to rip so she assumed they'd be sturdy enough to hold her if she started trying to move. One went around one foot, one around the other, a third around one of her thighs. Shrill perched in her lap, with her beautiful feathers spilling out into the space below.

By then the sun was brushing the horizon. She watched the shadows of the rocks lengthening as it set. The valley had already been in the shade for several hours. There hadn't been any deaths today, so unless something happened between now and midnight there would be no pictures. Creed felt that as a twinge of irritation. She'd been hoping that more tributes would have gone by now.

One more day, she decided, and then she'd go out in search of people. She'd find herself a decently heavy stick for a weapon and prowl the top of the valley, looking for targets. One more day.

She'd find water, too. Her lips were starting to crack.

That wouldn't be a problem. Even from up here she could hear the gushing of the stream down below, the trickles of half a dozen little waterfalls, and in case that wasn't enough then the clouds gathering to her right were grey and starting to swell. The wind was blowing them over, slowly. Finding water would be no trouble.

Food, though...

So far she was doing just fine on leaves. That couldn't last. A week, at most, and her strength would start draining away faster than she could replenish it. Plenty of people in Twelve had learned that - not that many of them had been in a position to do anything about it. She'd need to find something more substantial. Meat, ideally. There were birds in the trees, and Shrill was fast. But then she'd have to light a fire, and lighting a fire would mean being on the ground and potentially attracting attention.

Out of nowhere, she remembered the pheasants Miss Gorrogan had offered her, a lifetime ago. Just the thought of them was making her mouth water now. She should have taken them, then they could have gone to Grandaddy and Will and they'd have at least got something good out of this whole thing.