Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝ kiss me hard before you go, ❞
❝ summer time sadness. ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I CAN TELL BYTHE TENSE SILENCE THAT Cato and I's moods have shifted to serious, the possible outcomes of the next hours dawning miserably on us, plaguing our minds.
The armor tightens my frame uncomfortably, hugging my upper body. It's hard to breathe in, leaving a divergent and irregular pattern of breaths to escape my mouth. The glide of sweat against the feel of the protection adds an uncomfortable dimension to it.
Although the warm and tingling rays tickle onto my skin and envelop my body into a state of comfort, I don't let myself get distracted.
Cato tightens his grip around his new sword, walking a few inches ahead of me, asif to protect me from any incoming danger.
Yet, I catch up to the boy, despising the be the one standing behind. Especially despising that someone could sneak up from behind and kill me.
"Wait for me!" I insist, now walking along side the boy.
"Just trying to protect you, sweetheart." he trails off, scanning the surroundings.
"Thanks, but I don't need protecting." I mumble, planting my hands onto my hips.
"If you say so." Cato grins, amusedly staring at me.
"Who knows, maybe I'll be the one protecting you." I taunt.
"That's not likely, Everdeen," he scoffs. "But I'd like to see you try." I roll my eyes at this, though the blush creeping onto my cheeks translate a whole other emotion than annoyance.
Anyways, it's lucky that Tresh has an imposing figure, his steps and moves most likely going noticed most of the time. The trees have a habit at bouncing off sounds, echoing them into my ears, helping me.
My knives rattle in my belt, not having a complete set of them, and my machete slips between my bare stomach and my belt. Its silver metal shocks my skin, goosebumps contouring the weapon.
"Tresh will be hunting for us." Cato says, peering down at me again, his tone of voice shifting.
"He must have guessed we teamed up, after the rule change and Clove's death." I mutter slowly, attempting to camouflage my voice with a bird's sudden chirp.
I lift my head up, my irises catching the presence of a navy mockingjay, peacefully sitting on a branch, in blissful ignorance at where they are. He stays perched on the tree, its gaze narrow and winds flapping. He opens his small mouth to let a tragic melody occupy the air.
