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★★★
IT TAKES ME A SECOND to place exactly what's going on. I vaguely register someone screaming and think I'm still dreaming, still seeing the blood-soaked bandages and burned flesh and Peacekeepers and prairie fire, until I snap out of my daze and peek out of my sleeping bag, blinking the sleep from my eyes.
"HEY!" screams the voice. "I know you're there! Come out, you pathetic coward, you—"
I brush aside a few branches, and the figure swinging madly in the tree next to mine becomes clearer. Oh.
It's Clove. I feel an inexplicable fluttering in my chest, likely from fear. She spots me and her eyes grow wide, eyebrows furrowing and face flushing red.
For a moment, I'm worried she'll physically explode.
"You," she hisses venomously, ceasing her thrashing to point at me. I take a closer look, seeing she's been caught up in my trap—my rope is wrapped tightly around her right wrist, and she's dangling several feet off the ground. "You idiot! How dare you set this stupid trap and sit there looking all smug—"
I clumsily pull myself out of my sleeping bag, rubbing my eyes. Clove, to my surprise, stays silent while I descend the tree and run a hand through my hair, trying (and failing) to comb out the tangles. "Morning," I croak, throat still sore from the smoke.
"You look horrible," she says matter-of-factly. I get the sense she's trying to cross her arms, but since one of them is the only thing supporting her in the air, she gives up.
"Same to you," I rasp, which is a lie. Clove still manages to look as terrifyingly beautiful as she did in the Training Center, even with the thin layer of soot covering her body. Though I can't exactly say that out loud.
Clove's eyes flash dangerously, a green as dark as the forest around us. "Are you going to do something?"
"Like what?"
"Gosh, I don't know," she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Maybe let me out of this tree so I can kill you?"
"You're not technically in the tree, you're just hanging from the tree—"
Clove flails her limbs in agitation, and I'm suddenly reminded of Marvel, caught in the branches. "Don't get all smart with me! Why—" She pauses to let out a long string of expletives, face twisting in pain. "Are you even attempting to talk?"
I ignore her question, taking a few cautious steps closer. Clove is suspended in the air a couple feet above me on the ground, and I narrowly dodge a flying boot as I try to look at her injuries. "Is your arm okay?"
"No!" Clove huffs in frustration, and I notice her voice break slightly before she calms herself, eyes turning icy. "You fucking jackass, this is my throwing arm!"
