The Future Mockingjay🕊️

Chapter Twenty-Three

▫️Willow ▫️

I waved my bow around, ready to release an arrow. "Is there more?"

"No! She's the only one. Willow! Calm. Down!"

I put down my bow and arrow carefully, and inspect Perla. She has a long, still bleeding cut on her forearm where a knife evidently whizzed past. It was confirmed when i noticed the knife blade still lodged in the cave wall.

I sigh, looking at the dead body. A silence takes on as the hovercraft lowers to pick up the body.

"That was gruesome." Dylan say, scrunching up his perfect nose.

Thyme was already bandaging Perla's wounds when i tear my eyes away from crimson snow to Mark's glassy eyes. I cross over to him.

"You okay?" I asked him, putting a light hand on his shoulder. He jumps slightly, but after his eyes turn to mine, he relaxes.

"Yeah sure..." He says unconvincingly.

I pat him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's help Thyme." I say, grabbing his hand.

"Can I go check the girl's pack?" Dylan asks, staring at the bulging yellow pack on the snow.

"Sure" Thyme replies without even glancing at him. I follow Dylan with Mark right behind me.

"What's in there? Food? Medicine?" I ask Dylan as he tips the whole thing upside down.

"Sleeping bag, glasses, a loaf of cold bread, more knives for us, a sword and some type of berries." He answers back, glancing at me at last while holding a berry up. I look closely at them. They might be edible, but on a closer look, I realise what they were. I jump back, then knock them to the ground.

" Hey! They might be edible, Willow! " Mark responds. I gave him a look, and Dylan nods.

"Well, they're not. Didn't you notice how Willow jumped back a little?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

I realise he is really, really observent.

"I...I don't notice dumb things like that!" Mark covers up, glaring at Dylan.

The berries were already buried underneath the snow, so I pack up the dead girl's things to sort them out. Dylan stops glaring and helps me.

"Here, leave it to me, Willow. Your job is to roast these for lunch." He nods towards the birds we caught while hunting.

Mark scowls, but looks pleased. Probably thinking he won the 'glaring competition'.

"Mark, go with Dylan." I say, scowling myself, too. I don't want them to keep up the quarrel.

"But..." He protested.

"Just go!" I snapped. Dylan steers Mark away from me smoothly as I stomped towards some twigs carrying the birds on my shoulder.