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The path toward the tree was much more rocky than anticipated, leaving the soles of Plume's feet aching and blistering. The lack of sunlight swathed the jungle in darkness, and the only guide through the thick vines was the silvery moonlight that filtered delicately through the canopy of trees. In front of her, Peeta led the pack, followed by Beetee with his coil of wire and Finnick wielding his trademark trident.
At night, the humidity seemed to settle in the lower parts of the jungle, simmering down as the sun vanished and the heat diminished. Plume tasted a cloying fruitiness on her tongue, the water carrying down sweet droplets. She kept her gladius tucked to her side, her eyes on a swivel for any other tribute that dared to show their face.
The seven of them wordlessly weaved through rocks, the only sound being the chirping of insects and the roll of their feet on earth. Suddenly, through the gloom, there was a blast of trumpets. Plume tensed for a moment, then realized that this was just the Fallen Tributes presentation. The Capitol anthem blared, shaking the bushes around them as Plume craned her neck towards the sky. The white Capitol seal burned in the air for a moment before the faces began. Plume hardened her gaze.
The first one shown was Cashmere. In her picture she was smiling, her eyes glinting with arrogance. Her brother followed, his own smile shown for once last time before Wiress filled the sky. Plume heard Beetee hike in a breath. Plume didn't know much about Wiress and Beetee's relationship before the arena. Perhaps they had been friends, scheming geniuses who worked alongside each other in District 3's factories. Or maybe they had been more. Plume's heart ached for Beetee. Mags showed next. Plume regretted to say that she forgot about the old woman. She didn't even know how she had died. Finnick shifted uncomfortably next to her until the woman from District 5 blocked the stars. Then Mellie, Aries' district partner. Aries turned his head away from the broadcast momentarily, caught in a brief wave of emotion. Plume grasped for his hand, and squeezed it. The next was Blight. Plume squinted her eyes, trying to block herself from the pit of guilt that settled in her stomach. Next came Aspen. Plume frowned, but managed to fix her face back to neutral as the last picture lit up the night: Chaff. The trumpets ceased, and the broadcast shut off, leaving them in darkness once more.
Nine dead in one day. That number weighed down on her as the seven of them soundlessly continued to climb. Had Blight really been breathing that morning? It felt like years since the blood rain. Plume clung closer to Aries.
The tree was impossible not to spot as they approached, pushing through the brush to congregate a few yards from the trunk. Plume's eyes wandered up the tree, her head craning nearly ninety-degrees backward to see the top. It was gargantuan, ancient, laced with yellowing vines and a few strong-willed flowers that stuck out through the web of shrubbery. She caught her breath. It was impressive.
