When it rains. HGOCT R2 p1

He awoke from the remnants of shadowy nightmares to the violent pounding of rain that deluged from outside the cavern. Whenever Carsten drifted into sleep, he felt the gaze of the District Four girl. Haunting eyes focusing on nothing, blurred with harrowing anguish.  


She's gone is what he wanted to think. Forget about it. It's what you needed to do. And you will do it again, and again, and again until you win. But apathy was not common to Carsten Welshrose. There was no way he would detach her face from his mind's eye.


The voice of his father whispered in the back of his mind. "Heavy is the head that fell by an act of virtue, and troubled is the heart of one who found victory in sin". They were the words of a strong man, an honorable man. Though words were not likely to have the same effect as weapons in a game like this. For if the boy was to save his own life, and the lives of those he loved, he would need to forget his father's words. Troubled heart or not, he was determined to return home, even at the cost of others.


The fury of wind and water made Carsten shutter as he peered out through the cave's opening. A sharp, bitter pang crawled down his core; he was cold and hungry, but mostly cold. The boy returned to the safety of the damp inner cave, huddled up beneath an alcove whilst trying his best to shake some warmth into his skin. The outfits the capital gave the tributes for the arena was inadequate at best for conditions such as these. Clad only in a sleeveless top, thinly sewed pants, and ill-fitting military boots that supplied no warmth whatsoever, the boy from Eleven had little between him and the elements.


"If there are any warmer clothes here", he spoke aloud as if he had a companion to converse with, "Others surely got to 'em first, or died
tryin'."


He could only imagine what it was like outside the protection the damp stonewalls. The rest of the arena was most likely swamped deep in an inundation of muddy water, blood, and corpses. It was a sopping cacophony of the wails of dying children, dulled by the thundering drops of rain. There were others like him, soaked to the bone and shivering for any bit of warmth that was available. If the
violence alone did not kill, the unyielding nature of the cold and damp certainly would. Carsten knew however, that no matter how hard he tried to rub warmth into his limbs, it would be to no use. He would either have to continue moving forward and look for warmer clothes and food, or suffer the constraints of a cold and lonely death. And with those lingering thoughts, he pushed himself off the dankness of the cave's floor, and traversed onward into the dark.


Not only were his clothes scanty to say the least, but also the only weapon he managed to find was an old and rusted sickle he picked off of the girl from Four. The tool was awkward to hold from the weight of the aged metal, and it was so poorly kept that the blade was dulled beyond reason. If it struck any hard surface, it was sure to chip or even shatter, but Carsten thought it was durable enough for blunt-force action. He dared to hope.

Carsten had been traveling for what seemed like hours down the corridor. The obscurity of the glooming walls made his decision to continue deeper into the dark questionable, but for the faint holes of light that dotted the ceiling deeper into the cave. The orifices emitted long and thin crystalline streams down into depths of the cavern that discharged a pale light. There was just enough illumination to see the path beyond him, and in an obscure way it was gleaming. Large, looming stalactites appeared from the light and drooped down from above like dried wax on the talons of some fearsome beast. Though imposing and formidable, Carsten thought that the sharp tapers of rock seemed oddly beautiful as they glistened from the light above. Water dripped from the thin ends of the talons like blood from a recent kill and sent cold droplets down the boy's back. He shivered some more, and continued at a faster pace.


Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of clambering through the rocky floor of the cave in water sodden soles, he entered into a large, dry alcove. Great walls of dirt and stone grew steep and swept up towards the top to form solid arches. The thuds of his heavy footsteps reverberated throughout the passage with eerie echoes, and the boy paused for a moment to focus his ears on the sounds bouncing off the walls. From one corner of alcove, as faint as a whimper could be, were the muffled wisps of breath against a hand. The red hair on the back of Carsten's neck began to prick up. Bile rose in his throat, yet still he remained silent. Though not wanting to receive an axe or a knife strait in his back, he turned to face the other person in the corner, and gripped his sickle with a constricting tightness. Using whatever light shone from the holes in the rock, out of the corner of his eye he saw a quivering figure. All laden in blankets and bundles, two large watery eyes beamed up at him. His gaze narrowed on the stranger, not knowing who was going to make the first move.


"Carsten? …Is-Is that you?" murmered a petite voice from beyond the rock in the cave.


The boy ceased; utterly in shock. He raised the old rusty sickle in one hand and clenched the other in a tight fist.  


"Don't you move. I swear! Don't you even think 'bout it." He said without a stutter.  "I don't wanna have to hurt ya' –"


"It's Rettie! You know, Rettie from back home! Cartsen?…Carsten!"


The girl's voice was a strained, lackluster version of the one Carsten knew from the train ride to the capitol. He could see in the faint light that her once pretty hair was matted with grime and some blood, and her dirty face held a fearful glance in her large, brown eyes.


"Stay where ya're" the boy yelled in a nervous, yet partly commanding tone.


Carsten set his sickle on the ground, out of reach of the both of them.


"Empty yer hands now. The floor! Good, now le-me see 'em."


Rettie obeyed, she stood, and with a shaky hand, gently set down one blood-crusted hairpin, a short sword, a backpack as well as a small bundled bag. It would seem that Carsten Welshrose was inadequate in supplies compared to his district mate. The two stared at each other's eyes for quite some time, both uncertain of what the other thought.


Rettie. Rettie, yeah that's her name. She smelled like peaches when we met. But that fruit's spoiled, and now she smells like
blood.


He could only imagine how afraid she must of felt at that moment. Face to face with a boy much bigger than she, with blood covering his cheek and confusion written all over his face. Even on the train, it was difficult for them to talk to another. With living in a community whose people had a disdain for the others, and whose upbringings had been so different, it was strenuous for them to see eye to eye.


Her mouth quivered and out came small, delicate utterances. "You're not going to hurt me," she said in a calm, matter-of-fact way
"you don't like hurting. I know enough about you to see that."


Carsten's expression loosened, his mouth relaxed, and his body unwound as he sat his back down the cave's wall. He lost his focus
on Rettie, and gazed further of into the black. He could still see out of the corner of his eye, hers intently staring at him.


"I'm not gonna hurt ya'. Don't you worry".