#I imagine that it's stinger is more so to hold down prey while it using it's fire to burn it alive hehe

[reksink]

Two Experiments of Color, Two Young Bugs

[wofbutgood]

Working out the details of the different dragon species (races?) for my rewrite, still a lot to work out + I need to actually draw and design them (that's a problem for future me to figure out) but here's some details I've got so far.

General

All dragons are significantly smaller than in canon. From smallest to largest:

Rainwings. 2.5-3ft at the shoulder

Seawings, 2.7-3.5ft at the shoulder

Sandwings, 4-5ft at the shoulder

Nightwings, 4.5-.5.3 at the shoulder

Icewings, 4.5-5.5 at the shoulder

Skywings, 5-6ft at the shoulder

Mudwings, 5.7-6.5 at the shoulder

Females are generally larger than the males - still a matriarchal society because of this.

World is in roughly the bronze age.

Pantalla and its dragons don't exist. The planet is still separated into 2 major continents, but there's a large island chain between them, and the 7 main races are spread across them.

All races have their own language, some more similar than others.

There is no 'universal' language.

All dragons are usually expected to be at least bilingual.

Several languages have similar structures/sounds, which makes communication easier (think Norwegian and Swedish).

Mixed-race dragons are common, and its very normal to see a wide variety in cities and towns.

Each race isn't super distinct and defined like I've detailed below, because of the mixed population, so while they are still distinct, it's not all 'blood-purity' like in canon.

HOWEVER the royalty/upper echelons of society do stick very close to their bases, and see that as a sign of holiness, for lack of a better word.

Skywing

Body and wings covered predominantly by feathers. Exact feather coverage depends on the individual but the lower legs, end of the tail, and wing tips usually feature scales. (imagine a birds wing but replace the primary feather with dragon wings basically)

Wing shape more similar to seagulls and other ocean birds. Built for endurance and long-distance flights over speed.

Feathers and scales usually a reddish-brown colour, with some greys and whites mixed in. (see: golden eagles, bald eagles, haasts eagles, philippine eagles, etc.)

Carnivorous, diet made up of mountain-going ungulates, small mammals, and some fish.

Large front teeth for catching prey. Cone-shaped serrated cheek teeth for tearing flesh.

Long horns, typically narrow and spiraling.

Seawing

Covered in dense feathers similar to penguins, though their wings lack feathers completely.

No gills

Their wings have evolved to be curved and stiff, which allows them to launch out of the water and glide, like flying fish, for up to 500m with good winds.

Can't fly 'normally' outside of this.

their tail is a bit stiffer and ends in a fluke for more powerful swimming.

They're excellent divers, holding their breath for up to an hour, and diving as deep as a kilometer.

Feathers come in shades of blue, grey, green, brown, as well as many having bright accent colours like yellow and red.

Piscivorous, eating mostly fish, as well as squids, octopi, and various crustaceans

Robust front teeth for catching prey and cracking open shells. Hooked and serrated cheek teeth for holding onto prey and moving it down the throat.

Lack horns completely. Instead many individuals have large frills on the cheeks and down the spine.

Sandwing

Minimal feather covering, usually only a 'cape' around their shoulders and down their back.

Usually pale creams and browns, as well as darker shades, with some greys and blacks. Usually fairly solid colours, with some striping/barring.

Wings are broad and long, taking advantage of air columns to soar for hours.

Tail is long and flexible, ending in a stinger filled with paralysing venom.

Omnivores, growing root vegetables and hunting for small mammals and birds, and using their venom to bring down larger prey.

Small conical teeth for chewing smaller prey. Larger canines.

Best sense of smell of all dragons; can track their prey from up to 30km away.

Short horns with some curvature.

Icewing

Second thickest coat of feathers after Seawing's. Similar layout to Skywing's but feathers extend further down legs and tail.

Feathers come in greys and browns, with prominent barring down the whole body.

Thick mane of feathers on neck can stand on end, creating the 'spiky' look.

Wings are a similar shape to sand, but larger. Build for passive soaring.

Omnivores, eating mostly fish, seals, and penguins, but also enjoying various fruits when the season allows.

Large, cone-shaped and serrated teeth for tearing flesh.

Long, sharp horns. Tend to curl back then up. Excellent for stabbing.

Nightwing

Again, similar feather layout to Skywing's, but a bit denser.

Feathers are usually dark greys and browns, as well as black. An individuals scales are typically darker than their feathers.

Have white speckling along their wings, on the feather and skin sections, which gives the illusion of stars.

Wings are a broad elliptical shape, have a velvety fuzz along the skin section, and serrations along the leading edge of the wing. These factors allow them silent flight.

Fully nocturnal, though they may venture out occasionally at sunrise and set.

Carnivores, eating deer, small mammals, birds, and reptiles.

Teeth are cone-shapes and serrated.

Mid-length horns. Tend to curl in a large circle behind the head.

Rainwing

Completely lack feathers, instead covered in colour-changing scales.

Wings are small and elliptical, can be used for slowing their fall, or for sudden bursts of speed (and double-jumping, basically) but are too small for sustained flight.

Large, cobra-like teeth deliver a deadly venom upon a bite. The neurotoxins in the venom causes dizziness, vertigo, and nausea, followed by neuromuscular paralysis, and eventually tissue necrosis. If left untreated, the victim may require amputation of the bitten area. The venom is usually fatal within 30 minutes.

Prehensile tails and short, curved claws, allows them to live an almost fully arboreal lifestyle.

Frugivorous, eating various fruits, vegetables, flowers, nuts, and seeds. Though they may also enjoy the occasional small reptile or insect for some extra protein.

Lack horns. Instead have large frills framing their cheeks.

Mudwing

Completely lack feathers, most of their body being covered in thick, keratinous scales.

Come in shades of brown, greenish-browns, grey, and yellowish-brown.

Large, elliptical wings. Slow in flight, they're primarily terrestrial.

They have the strongest bite-force of all dragons, averaging around 5000psi.

While not truly aquatic, they still rely heavily on water to keep cool in the intense heat of their native habitat. They're powerful swimmers and can hold their breath for up to 5 minutes.

Omnivorous, they'll eat almost anything, though they prefer larger mammals like pigs, as well as crocodiles. They grow a wide range of fruits and vegetables, as well as foraging for native plants.

They have short, powerful teeth able to crush through bone.

Mid-length, thick horns. Usually curled down around the jaw to different levels. Some may curve in different directions.

Claws are large and flat, ideal for digging.

[raccoonmooon]

the poison, drunk

Dipping my toe into writing! Have a WTNC fic!

Post pledge ending, the hunter does not tell anyone when they leave Lunaris. The hunter's sister (who is a hunter herself) acquires a lingering injury, and decides to take the time off to visit her sibling. Instead she finds a mystery, and a town full of people who's help she will need to solve it. 

categories: angst, hurt / comfort, eventual happy ending, maybe the hunter can have a little redemption arc, as a treat, two hunters, divergence from canon epilogue | pairings: August / F!Hunter, Finnzra, Finnzra / nb!Hunter | fic rating: explicit | content warnings (this chapter):  canon-typical violence | word count: 1,635  |  read on AO3 

Chapter 1/?  | i'll send a storm

chapter summary-  A hunt goes wrong, Finn makes tea badly

...Seven...eight...nine heartbeats and a roll of distant thunder filtered through the trees, closer than she’d prefer. Rowan scanned the forest in front of her, the full, newly risen moon illuminating tall conifers scarred with layers of claw marks. She moved with a renewed confidence in the direction her senses were pulling her.

Keane huffed "That glare might leave demons shakin’ in their boots but it’s not gonna turn the storm." The weatherbeaten old witch was scarred as the trees they were passing through, with glinting eyes under bushy grey brows. "We’re ending this night soaked to the bone no matter how fast we trot."

He kept pace regardless, heavy boots muffled by the thick layer of pine needles and other decaying detritus that made up the forest floor. The air felt just as padded, pregnant with the approaching thunderhead. She ducked under a branch with tufts of cinnabar orange fur stuck in the bark.

"I’d rather finish the job before the clouds steal our moonlight Enforcer. Wasn’t exactly a short hike up here and now we’re in the beast’s territory it’s not likely to give us a night to wait out the weather."

It had, in fact, taken them just over a week to track the creature here from the rustic little town she’d been assigned to the last three years. A harsh winter had drawn it down out of it’s remote stomping grounds and into the range of people. And even with the arrival of spring, now that it knew easier prey was a short flight away, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t come back.

"Eh, least the wind’ll keep it grounded" he growled "An’ how many times have I told you to call me Keane?"

Rowan huffed a laugh in response, letting the discussion rest. For a while the only sounds were increasingly frequent peals of thunder and the susurrus of trees in the storm’s downdraft drowning out their breath and footfalls.

She slowed as they approached a clearing cast in darkening moonlight, and let her hand fall to the handle of her axe as a four-legged figure padded into view. The barbaric semblance of a human face snarled at them out of a thick mane of matted red fur. The over sized body tensed and threw massive leathery wings up into an obvious threat display, while a tail tipped with a chitinous, scorpion-like stinger lashed behind it. The manticore crouched back, sizing the distance and preparing to leap.

Rowan readied her axe, flashing silver in a burst of lightning that briefly threw the clearing into sharp relief. The ground was littered with shredded wood and scattered carcasses in various states of decay, the smell of which failed to entirely drown out the musty scent of the beast itself. Beside her, Keane visibly centered himself and the air took on a biting chill as an icy mist rose in the clearing and his eyes were overtaken by a cold light.

They moved apart swiftly as darting fish, and the creature’s massive bulk landed in the space now between them with an impact she could feel in her teeth. Keane drew its attention with a flashy burst of spiked ice to its face.

"Well this fellow’s scarred as an old tom isn’t he?" the witch laughed as the beast whipped around to face him with a snarl.

He was indeed, the shaggy lion’s pelt marred with dozens of scars, and the heavy wings were ragged at the edges. But Rowan was focused on the tail, which she ducked out of the way to avoid as the creature spun. Segmented red chitin leading to a wickedly curved tip coming down from the bulbous final segment. Both of them had little vials of the anti-venin potion she’d prepared for the trip, but that didn’t guarantee they’d be fast enough to get it down if struck, certainly not without permanent damage. So it remained the manticore’s deadliest feature, and her first task was to remove it.

Keane continued to back away as he threw another volley of ice at the thing. Rowan waited for it to pull back its tail to strike, near parallel with the ground, and brought her axe down between two of the segments as it sprung back up, neatly splitting the top few from the rest and sending them spinning uselessly through the clearing.

The manticore turned back on her with outstretched claws swung wildly in her direction and an earsplitting yowl louder than any cat she’d ever had the misfortune to hear.

She called back to Keane, "About as subtle as a tomcat as well yeah?" It bared leonine teeth at her in an angry hiss, three rows on top and bottom, and prepared for another swing.

Rowan jumped back, rather than to the side, the thick mane would deter a blow to the neck, and its face was the next best option for a clean kill. But rather than the swipe of claws she expected, it took a flying leap over her head, knocking her down with its hind paws, bouncing off the massive pine behind her and flapping some twenty meters up a tree on the other side of the clearing. It clung to the bark with straining claws and the approaching storm whipped its mane around its face as it roared down at them, fully pissed off.

She pulled herself back to her feet, coat flapping around her calves, and unholstered her flintlock pistol, it was out of range no matter how well she aimed.

"Can you do something about that?" she shouted over the wind at Keane.

The witch focused up at the tree and some ways below the yowling beast, a pale mist settled around the bark. After a few moments there was a great cracking sound, loud as a gunshot, and that part of the tree shattered, the top half with the manticore on it tilted towards them, seemingly in slow motion.

"TIMBER!" Keane shouted, darting farther away from the falling tree, Rowan ran backwards in the opposite direction, trying to keep her eyes on the manticore, trapped by the falling branches. Her boot hit something that crunched and she felt a sharp pain in her calf, she looked down horrified to see the manticore’s envenomed stinger at her feet. Fuck.

She needed to take the antivenom now but the tree crashed to the ground between her and Keane, and five hundred kilos of manticore began flailing to try and free itself from the branches pressing it to the ground. There wasn’t time. Rowan leapt forward, running along a thick branch to the trunk where she could get a good look at the beast, it saw her approach and let out a final unnatural yowl that abruptly cut off with the crack of her pistol.

The manticore went limp just as Rowan’s leg gave out, she landed tangled in branches and pulled the little vial from the leather pouch at her waist. She could hear Keane calling for her as she ripped the stopper out with her teeth. She downed the bitter, red liquid in one mouthful, and things started to get a bit blurry as the sky finally opened up, instantly drenching her.

OOO

Far away, moonlight poured through a kitchen window as Finnegan Kazimir struggled to make a cup of tea. Which one was it he’d seen Ezra reach for after a hard day in the shop? The blue and yellow tin that smelt of mint and earth? Finn was unsure, he didn’t often pay attention to such things when Ezra was in the room. The kettle screamed, and decision made he pulled down the tin and yanked the horrible thing off the heat.

Sitting at the little wooden table he watched what should have been the cheery gold of the tea, warp to a sickly yellow in the shadowed light, spreading in tendrils through clear water like poison through-

Finn shut his eyes and thought of the bright life of his love upstairs, warm, safe, close, and too distracted by fresh grief to make himself the cup of tea darting thoughts told Finn he wanted. He settled and let each moment pass as the tea steeped, time would fix this, settle wounds into scars that could be ignored like a scrap of purple fabric in a box.

OOO

Ezra stared up into the rain pounding on the window and felt cold imagining where Maro might be. He wanted to run out into the night and find them, bring them home and find a way to undo the curse they’d drunk down like it was the only option. But there wasn’t a way to undo it, there was nothing he or Finn could do, and their love was going to die alone in the cold after everything they’d fallen in love with had been stripped away. He shivered.

The creak of the bedroom door drew him out of his thoughts and he watched Finn approach the bed with distant golden eyes and a cup of tea steaming in his hands. Ezra found a smile for his love.

"You didn’t have to do that" he said.

The vampire crawled into bed beside him and slid the cup into his hands, wrapping his own tea warmed palms around Ezra’s and holding them against the gentle heat as he leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead in lieu of a response.

They settled against each other and Ezra took a sip of the tea, a lovely calming blend with strong notes of peppermint and chamomile, drowned out by far, far too much honey, even for him, with unstrained leaves swirling about. He tucked a more genuine smile into Finn’s neck "It’s perfect, thank you." They curled closer together and listened to the rain.

[evolutionsvoid]

While the Cockatrice family has given up flight for a more terrestrial lifestyle, one species of this family has taken quite a different route. The Diving Cockatrice (or also known as Diver's Cockatrice) is an aquatic member of the family, spending most of its life swimming in the sea. It should be noted that Diving Cockatrices live only in saltwater, and if anyone is thinking about a freshwater dwelling variant, then they are most likely thinking of the Wading Cockatrice. These fellows are found in more colder climates, and they tend to nest on rocky shores. They are not found in tropical waters, so you won't be stumbling upon any when soaking up the sun at the beach. For other Cockatrices, they have developed adaptations to better suit a terrestrial lifestyle, like stronger hind limbs and thicker bones. For the Diving Cockatrice, their changes are a bit more extreme as regular birds are not exactly cut out for an aquatic life. Their forelimbs have turned into flipper-like appendages, while their hind limbs feature large webbed toes. Their bodies are much more streamlined, and their feathers have a waterproof coating to help protect them from the frigid waters. The fancy crests and wattles of their land brethren are now greatly reduced, as they would only slow them down. Even their crop is smaller than the other cockatrices, as a large, bulging one would only create drag. With all this combined, they are incredible swimmers and are much like birds in flight when they are in the water. Their speed is impressive, and their maneuverability is just as amazing, as they zip around to catch prey. Though they spend most of their life in the ocean, their dives down below often only last between five and ten minutes. They do not have crazy huge lungs to let them stay below for hours at a time, but with their speed and agility, they hardly need to. While they have the grace of dancers when they are in the water, this does not carry over too well on land. With their hind legs positioned on the side of their bodies rather than under, walking isn't exactly easy. It doesn't help that they have elongated webbed feet that point back for swimming. When they do come to land for nesting and resting, they can only crawl on their bellies. They use the claw on their flipper to help gain traction on slippery rocks, and they essentially push/pull themselves along. Due to this limited mobility on land, Diving Cockatrices rarely nest far from the shores, as any considerable distance would take them way too long to traverse. When it comes to hunting, Diving Cockatrices use their incredible swimming prowess to chase down their food. What they will do is swim along the surface and poke their head down to look for prey. When a suitable fish is spotted, they shall dive down and use their limbs to propel themselves at great speeds. Their long sharp beaks have tooth-like barbs on the inside, as well as on their tongue, which they use to hold onto slippery fish. As you could probably guess, Diving Cockatrices prey on fish, but they also eat a large amount of jellyfish. They will nab the occasional squid or floating crustacean, but fish and jellyfish are their favorites. What they truly want are species that are poisonous or possess venom of some kind, which they use to fuel their deadly spit. Just like any other cockatrice, they store these nasty ingredients in their crop to help create a toxic soup that they spew at attackers. Poison glands and jellyfish stingers make up a large portion of this soup, but there is an extra ingredient that their brethren do not possess. Since they spend so much time underwater, you can imagine spitting is not an effective weapon down there. To make up for this, their crop produces an oily, slimy substance that mixes in with the poison and toxin. This makes their barf thicker and stickier, allowing it to survive underwater. When they barf at attackers down below, this mixture will come out as a tangled, oily web, which will cling to a predator's face. There the nasty concoction will leech into their eyes, nose and mouth, causing all sorts of horrible infections. When spitting on land, their vomit comes out as a globby mass, sticking to attackers like the world's deadliest booger. Something to note about their spit weapon is that they use it as a last resort when they are in the water. When predators attack down below, they prefer to swim away as fast as possible. If land is close, they shall retreat there, but in some cases, they shall dive into swarms of jellyfish to escape predators. These little guys are immune to the stingers and venom of jellyfish, but many foes are not. It is only when they realize they can't outrun the attacker when they shall spin around and spew out their toxic cloud. On land, though, they are quick to barf at foes, as they are much more vulnerable in this state. If you wish to observe these nesting colonies, it is best that you do so from far away. Or at least get a really good mask and set of goggles.  

For breeding, Diving Cockatrices use the land for this function. They shall build crude nests from rock and lay their eggs within. Mated pairs stick together until their chicks become full grown, as it takes two parents to help provide enough food and protection. Even at a young age, these chicks are capable of vomiting at foes, but this puke consists mainly of the oily goo. Though it lacks the poisons and toxins, it is still a sticky mess that you really don't want in your eyes. While many places have found other Cockatrice species to be good for hunting or farming, Diving Cockatrices are often left alone. Due to their smaller size, they do not give a good amount of meat, and their lifestyle makes them impossible to raise like livestock. Their feathery hides do make for good gloves and boots, but catching them intentionally can be difficult. In the sea, you will never snare them with net or pole, and on land they find safety in numbers. Your best chance of snaring one is when you cast your net to catch a school of fish, and you accidentally nab one of these birds on accident. Even in this case, you better watch yourself when you pull this haul back up, as the bird will be squawking, pecking and puking. While many coastal towns may admire their aquatic grace, a lot of fishermen will have a different mood when they are at sea. To these folk, Diving Cockatrices are pests that will nab fish from hooks and swipe goods from nets. Their zipping and zooming way of hunt also tends to make fish schools erratic and unpredictable. Many a fisherman has cursed these birds after they ready their nets for an approaching school to only have their haul change direction when these little guys come barreling in. I am sure a lot of them would love to twist their scrawny little necks, but that is a fantasy best left in dream. If you aren't sure why, look for the person at the tavern who looks like half their face is rotting off. They can tell you how not worth it was to commit such an act.         Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------------------------ And since we got a more coastal Slime, why not a more coastal Cockatrice?

[readbookywooks]

15 I enter a nightmare from which I wake repeatedly only to find a greater terror awaiting me. All the things I dread most, all the things I dread for others manifest in such vivid detail I can't help but believe they're real. Each time I wake, I think, At last, this is over, but it isn't. It's only the beginning of a new chapter of torture. How many ways do I watch Prim die? Relive my father's last moments? Feel my own body ripped apart? This is the nature of the tracker jacker venom, so carefully created to target the place where fear lives in your brain. When I finally do come to my senses, I lie still, waiting for the next onslaught of imagery. But eventually I accept that the poison must have finally worked its way out of my system, leaving my body wracked and feeble. I'm still lying on my side, locked in the fetal position. I lift a hand to my eyes to find them sound, untouched by ants that never existed. Simply stretching out my limbs requires an enormous effort. So many parts of me hurt, it doesn't seem worthwhile taking inventory of them. Very, very slowly I manage to sit up. I'm in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves. My clothing's damp, but I don't know whether pond water, dew, rain, or sweat is the cause. For a long time, all I can do is take tiny sips from my bottle and watch a beetle crawl up the side of a honeysuckle bush. How long have I been out? It was morning when I lost reason. Now it's afternoon. But the stiffness in my joints suggests more than a day has passed, even two possibly. If so, I'll have no way of knowing which tributes survived that tracker jacker attack. Not Glimmer or the girl from District 4. But there was the boy from District 1, both tributes from District 2, and Peeta. Did they die from the stings? Certainly if they lived, their last days must have been as horrid as my own. And what about Rue? She's so small, it wouldn't take much venom to do her in. But then again. the tracker jackers would've had to catch her, and she had a good head start. A foul, rotten taste pervades my mouth, and the water has little effect on it. I drag myself over to the honeysuckle bush and pluck a flower. I gently pull the stamen through the blossom and set the drop of nectar on my tongue. The sweetness spreads through my mouth, down my throat, warming my veins with memories of summer, and my home woods and Gale's presence beside me. For some reason, our discussion from that last morning comes back to me. "We could do it, you know." "What?" "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it." And suddenly, I'm not thinking of Gale but of Peeta and. Peeta! He saved my life! I think. Because by the time we met up, I couldn't tell what was real and what the tracker jacker venom had caused me to imagine. But if he did, and my instincts tell me he did, what for? Is he simply working the Lover Boy angle he initiated at the interview? Or was he actually trying to protect me? And if he was, what was he doing with those Careers in the first place? None of it makes sense. I wonder what Gale made of the incident for a moment and then I push the whole thing out of my mind because for some reason Gale and Peeta do not coexist well together in my thoughts. So I focus on the one really good thing that's happened since I landed in the arena. I have a bow and arrows! A full dozen arrows if you count the one I retrieved in the tree. They bear no trace of the noxious green slime that came from Glimmer's body  -  which leads me to believe that might not have been wholly real  -  but they have a fair amount of dried blood on them. I can clean them later, but I do take a minute to shoot a few into a nearby tree. They are more like the weapons in the Training Center than my ones at home, but who cares? That I can work with. The weapons give me an entirely new perspective on the Games. I know I have tough opponents left to face. But I am no longer merely prey that runs and hides or takes desperate measures. If Cato broke through the trees right now, I wouldn't flee, I'd shoot. I find I'm actually anticipating the moment with pleasure. But first, I have to get some strength back in my body. I'm very dehydrated again and my water supply is dangerously low. The little padding I was able to put on by gorging myself during prep time in the Capitol is gone, plus several more pounds as well. My hip bones and ribs are more prominent than I remember them being since those awful months after my father's death. And then there are my wounds to contend with  -  burns, cuts, and bruises from smashing into the trees, and three tracker jacker stings, which are as sore and swollen as ever. I treat my burns with the ointment and try dabbing a bit on my stings as well, but it has no effect on them. My mother knew a treatment for them, some type of leaf that could draw out the poison, but she seldom had cause to use it, and I don't even remember its name let alone its appearance. Water first, I think. You can hunt along the way now. It's easy to see the direction I came from by the path of destruction my crazed body made through the foliage. So I walk off in the other direction, hoping my enemies still lie locked in the surreal world of tracker jacker venom. I can't move too quickly, my joints reject any abrupt motions. But I establish the slow hunter's tread I use when tracking game. Within a few minutes, I spot a rabbit and make my first kill with the bow and arrow. It's not my usual clean shot through the eye, but I'll take it. After about an hour, I find a stream, shallow but wide, and more than sufficient for my needs. The sun's hot and severe, so while I wait for my water to purify I strip down to my underclothes and wade into the mild current. I'm filthy from head to toe, I try splashing myself but eventually just lay down in the water for a few minutes, letting it wash off the soot and blood and skin that has started to peel off my burns. After rinsing out my clothes and hanging them on bushes to dry, I sit on the bank in the sun for a bit, untangling my hair with my fingers. My appetite returns and I eat a cracker and a strip of beef. With a handful of moss, I polish the blood from my silver weapons. Refreshed, I treat my burns again, braid back my hair, and dress in the damp clothes, knowing the sun will dry them soon enough. Following the stream against its current seems the smartest course of action. I'm traveling uphill now, which I prefer, with a source of fresh water not only for myself but possible game. I easily take out a strange bird that must be some form of wild turkey. Anyway, it looks plenty edible to me. By late afternoon, I decide to build a small fire to cook the meat, betting that dusk will help conceal the smoke and I can quench the fire by nightfall. I clean the game, taking extra care with the bird, but there's nothing alarming about it. Once the feathers are plucked, it's no bigger than a chicken, but it's plump and firm. I've just placed the first lot over the coals when I hear the twig snap. In one motion, I turn to the sound, bringing the bow and arrow to my shoulder. There's no one there. No one I can see anyway. Then I spot the tip of a child's boot just peeking out from behind the trunk of a tree. My shoulders relax and I grin. She can move through the woods like a shadow, you have to give her that. How else could she have followed me? The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. "You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances," I say. For a moment, no response. Then one of Rue's eyes edges around the trunk. "You want me for an ally?" "Why not? You saved me with those tracker jackers. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway," I say. She blinks at me, trying to decide. "You hungry?" I can see her swallow hard, her eye flickering to the meat. "Come on then, I've had two kills today." Rue tentatively steps out into the open. "I can fix your stings." "Can you?" I ask. "How?" She digs in the pack she carries and pulls out a handful of leaves. I'm almost certain they're the ones my mother uses. "Where'd you find those?" "Just around. We all carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there," says Rue. "There are a lot here, too." "That's right. You're District Eleven. Agriculture," I say. "Orchards, huh? That must be how you can fly around the trees like you've got wings." Rue smiles. I've landed on one of the few things she'll admit pride in. "Well, come on, then. Fix me up." I plunk down by the fire and roll up my pant leg to reveal the sting on my knee. To my surprise, Rue places the handful of leaves into her mouth and begins to chew them. My mother would use other methods, but it's not like we have a lot of options. After a minute or so, Rue presses a gloppy green wad of chewed leaves and spit on my knee. "Ohhh." The sound comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. It's as if the leaves are actually leaching the pain right out of the sting. Rue gives a giggle. "Lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers out or you'd be a lot worse." "Do my neck! Do my cheek!" I almost beg. Rue stuffs another handful of leaves in her mouth, and soon I'm laughing because the relief is so sweet. I notice a long burn on Rue's forearm. "I've got something for that." I set aside my weapons and anoint her arm with the burn medicine. "You have good sponsors," she says longingly. "Have you gotten anything yet?" I ask. She shakes her head. "You will, though. Watch. The closer we get to the end, the more people will realize how clever you are." I turn the meat over. "You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" she asks. "No, I meant it," I say. I can almost hear Haymitch groaning as I team up with this wispy child. But I want her. Because she's a survivor, and I trust her, and why not admit it? She reminds me of Prim. "Okay," she says, and holds out her hand. We shake. "It's a deal." Of course, this kind of deal can only be temporary, but neither of us mentions that. Rue contributes a big handful of some sort of starchy root to the meal. Roasted over the fire, they have the sharp sweet taste of a parsnip. She recognizes the bird, too, some wild thing they call a groosling in her district. She says sometimes a flock will wander into the orchard and they get a decent lunch that day. For a while, all conversation stops as we fill our stomachs. The groosling has delicious meal that's so fatty, the grease drips down your face when you bite into it. "Oh," says Rue with a sigh. "I've never had a whole leg to myself before." I'll bet she hasn't. I'll bet meat hardly ever comes her way. "Take the other," I say. "Really?" she asks. "Take whatever you want. Now that I've got a bow and arrows, I can get more. Plus I've got snares. I can show you how to set them," I say. Rue still looks uncertainly at the leg. "Oh, take it," I say, putting the drumstick in her hands. "It will only keep a few days anyway, and we've got the whole bird plus the rabbit." Once she's got hold of it, her appetite wins out and she takes a huge mouthful. "I'd have thought, in District Eleven, you'd have a bit more to eat than us. You know, since you grow the food," I say. Rue's eyes widen. "Oh, no, we're not allowed to eat the crops." "They arrest you or something?" I ask. "They whip you and make everyone else watch," says Rue. "The mayor's very strict about it." I can tell by her expression that it's not that uncommon an occurrence. A public whipping's a rare thing in District 12, although occasionally one occurs. Technically, Gale and I could be whipped on a daily basis for poaching in the woods  -  well, technically, we could get a whole lot worse  -  except all the officials buy our meat. Besides, our mayor, Madge's father, doesn't seem to have much taste for such events. Maybe being the least prestigious, poorest, most ridiculed district in the country has its advantages. Such as, being largely ignored by the Capitol as long as we produce our coal quotas. "Do you get all the coal you want?" Rue asks. "No," I answer. "Just what we buy and whatever we track in on our boots." "They feed us a bit extra during harvest, so that people can keep going longer," says Rue. "Don't you have to be in school?" I ask. "Not during harvest. Everyone works then," says Rue. It's interesting, hearing about her life. We have so little communication with anyone outside our district. In fact, I wonder if the Gamemakers are blocking out our conversation, because even though the information seems harmless, they don't want people in different districts to know about one another. At Rue's suggestion, we lay out all our food to plan ahead. She's seen most of mine, but I add the last couple of crackers and beef strips to the pile. She's gathered quite a collection of roots, nuts, greens, and even some berries. I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers. "You sure this is safe?" "Oh, yes, we have them back home. I've been eating them for days," she says, popping a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it's as good as our blackberries. Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time. We divide up our food supplies, so in case we're separated, we'll both be set for a few days. Apart from the food, Rue has a small water skin, a homemade slingshot, and an extra pair of socks. She also has a sharp shard of rock she uses as a knife. "I know it's not much," she says as if embarrassed, "but I had to get away from the Cornucopia fast." "You did just right," I say. When I spread out my gear, she gasps a little when she sees the sunglasses. "How did you get those?" she asks. "In my pack. They've been useless so far. They don't block the sun and they make it harder to see," I say with a shrug. "These aren't for sun, they're for darkness," exclaims Rue. "Sometimes, when we harvest through the night, they'll pass out a few pairs to those of us highest in the trees. Where the torchlight doesn't reach. One time, this boy Martin, he tried to keep his pair. Hid it in his pants. They killed him on the spot." "They killed a boy for taking these?" I say. "Yes, and everyone knew he was no danger. Martin wasn't right in the head. I mean, he still acted like a three-year-old. He just wanted the glasses to play with," says Rue. Hearing this makes me feel like District 12 is some sort of safe haven. Of course, people keel over from starvation all the time, but I can't imagine the Peacekeepers murdering a simpleminded child. There's a little girl, one of Greasy Sae's grandkids, who wanders around the Hob. She's not quite right, but she's treated as a sort of pet. People toss her scraps and things. "So what do these do?" I ask Rue, taking the glasses. "They let you see in complete darkness," says Rue. "Try them tonight when the sun goes down." I give Rue some matches and she makes sure I have plenty of leaves in case my stings flare up again. We extinguish our fire and head upstream until it's almost nightfall. "Where do you sleep?" I ask her. "In the trees?" She nods. "In just your jacket?" Rue holds up her extra pair of socks. "I have these for my hands." I think of how cold the nights have been. "You can share my sleeping bag if you want. We'll both easily fit." Her face lights up. I can tell this is more than she dared hope for. We pick a fork high in a tree and settle in for the night just as the anthem begins to play. There were no deaths today. "Rue, I only woke up today. How many nights did I miss?" The anthem should block out our words, but still I whisper. I even take the precaution of covering my lips with my hand. I don't want the audience to know what I'm planning to tell her about Peeta. Taking a cue from me, she does the same. "Two," she says. "The girls from Districts One and Four are dead. There's ten of us left." "Something strange happened. At least, I think it did. It might have been the tracker jacker venom making me imagine things," I say. "You know the boy from my district? Peeta? I think he saved my life. But he was with the Careers." "He's not with them now," she says. "I've spied on their base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers. But he's not there. Maybe he did save you and had to run." I don't answer. If, in fact, Peeta did save me, I'm in his debt again. And this can't be paid back. "If he did, it was all probably just part of his act. You know, to make people think he's in love with me." "Oh," says Rue thoughtfully. "I didn't think that was an act." "Course it is," I say. "He worked it out with our mentor." The anthem ends and the sky goes dark. "Let's try out these glasses." I pull out the glasses and slip them on. Rue wasn't kidding. I can see everything from the leaves on the trees to a skunk strolling through the bushes a good fifty feet away. I could kill it from here if I had a mind to. I could kill anyone. "I wonder who else got a pair of these," I say. "The Careers have two pairs. But they've got everything down by the lake," Rue says. "And they're so strong." "We're strong, too," I say. "Just in a different way." "You are. You can shoot," she says. "What can I do?" "You can feed yourself. Can they?" I ask. "They don't need to. They have all those supplies," Rue says. "Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?" I say. "I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?" "But, Katniss, they're not hungry," says Rue. "No, they're not. That's the problem," I agree. And for the first time, I have a plan. A plan that isn't motivated by the need for flight and evasion. An offensive plan. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

[evolutionsvoid]

The Seabee is a creature that has one of those names that perfectly describes the critter as a whole. It is a species that looks like a bee and lives in the sea. While it indeed has the appearance of a bee, it is by no means a real one. It is an insect, but it is not in the same family as those little honey makers. The "wings" you see on its back are not used for flight, but are specialized gills that allow it to live its aquatic lifestyle. What also helps with survival is their heavy carapace, which features segmented plates for both mobility and defense. The abdomen is capable of bending and flexing, which it uses to propel itself like dolphin's tail would. To further help with swimming is its hindmost legs, which have broadened and flattened into paddle-like structures. The Seabee spends most of its life near the bottom of the ocean, skimming across the floor as it searches for prey. Their sharp mandibles and clawed front limbs help catch prey as they glide through the water. Their gills are capable of flapping and vibrating like wings would, but they are used to stir up sediment and scare hiding morsels from their homes. While swimming over rocks and coral, it will shake and rub its wings to startle hiding prey and force them to flee. That is when a mighty push of its tail will cause it to surge forward so it can grab the running meal. All in all, the Seabee is a rather simple creature that lives a nice, plain life, to the point where I originally though there wasn't much to write about this species. Doing some digging, though, as led me to discover something truly unusual about the Seabees. Well, more about how people see the Seabees. Ocean creatures and mysterious beasts of the deep do capture the imagination of sailors and fishermen, but the Seabee is something truly special. And that is that this simple species seems to have the ability to make people lose their freaking minds. Now you may think that I am talking about some strange psionic power or mind control ability that the Seabee has, but no. What I am talking about is how sailors, fishermen and folk of the sea seem to go absolutely crazy when they encounter this creature. You think Ningen, Venom Dragons and Hydromancers would be the most terrifying things of the sea, but those all pale in comparison to the Seabee. The stories I have heard about these creatures is truly mind boggling, and I can't help but wonder if saltwater and sun poisoning are the true sources of these tales. At first I thought people were tugging my roots, but several colleagues have confirmed that such things are true. It starts when a Seabee is brought aboard a vessel, which can happen by either accidentally catching it in a net, or hanging close to shallow water and having it latch onto the side of the boat. When it climbs aboard or is hauled to the deck, the crew will take notice and that is when the madness begins. Apparently when sea-faring folk encounter this creature they go into a full blown, uncontrolled frenzy. This not your usual panicking due to an odd looking fish, this an absolute, frothing, mindless sweet-death-take-me-now unhinged state of madness and fear. When faced with a Seabee on the ship, people will: run around like mad men, scream uncontrollably, flail about in a shrieking fit, barricade themselves in the hold, throw themselves overboard, throw other people overboard, rush to the lifeboats then throw themselves overboard, cry out to the gods for mercy, scream to the gods in despair, throw fellow crew members at the flopping creature in hopes of saving their own skin, or (if all that isn't enough) set the whole freaking ship ablaze while everyone is still on it. I kid you not, this is totally a thing. I have not seen it myself, of course, and that is because I am not a fan of sailing. I only go out to sea if there are no other options, and when I do, I usually hide in the belly of the ship the whole time because saltwater does not do good things to plants. So far I have not dealt with this lunacy, but some of my colleagues have witnessed this. Even outside of their recollections, I have heard sailors talk about the one time they met a Seabee and they tell these stories with the same grim tone as one would use for war stories. One fellow told me how a Seabee climbed aboard their ship once, and the crew decided that the only course of action was to ram the vessel into a reef. The crew spent the next two weeks barely surviving on that spit of land, but to this day, the man seems adamant that they did the right thing. For some odd reason, Seabees are feared more than sea serpents and Hydromancers, and I have no clue why. They are not too adept at land-based movement, so they either flop about or scuttle awkwardly across the ground. They will flutter their gills rapidly, creating a weird hissing/buzzing sound as they do it. They also pose very little danger, save for a nip from their claws and mandibles. However, such a statement would be considered false in the eyes of these sea men, as the Seabee, to them, is a truly deadly creature. It is not the claws and mandibles one has to fear, it is their cursed stinger and the horrors it brings. 

Much like the bees they are compared to, Seabees possess a stinger at the end of their abdomen. This is a defensive structure that is used to ward off predators and keep attackers from nipping at their tails. The venom in this stinger only causes a brief burning pain, which is meant to buy time for the Seabee to escape. It is by no means fatal, or really that damaging. It is just a painful sting that will go away after a few hours. No big deal, or so you would think. To the seafaring community (and a surprising amount of other folk as well) the sting of a Seabee is a cursed thing. It is referred to as the Mark of the Seabee, and it is something truly horrifying. Those who are stung by the Seabee are forever damned by the ocean itself. To bear the mark and be in the presence of the sea is to bring death and destruction upon you and anyone nearby. In some cases, being anywhere near water is enough to trigger the foul curse that the mark brings. What this supposed thing does is quite vague, as they just claim that the Mark of the Seabee shall bring ruin to you and all those that are nearby. Most of the tellings I have heard have just ended with storms hitting the ships and the bearer winds up being swept out to sea or being thrown overboard by their fearful crew. Honestly, I kind of find it to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. You get stung and your fellow sailors start panicking with the thought that your mark will spell their doom, so they chuck you overboard and you drown. Then people start saying that the mark is s symbol of death, despite the fact that they are the ones who do most of the killing. It is crazy, and that's not the end of it. Those who get stung and bear the mark will go into self-imposed exile, fleeing the ocean and all water bodies. They fear that the water will trigger the mark, so they run to arid places to hide. In the end, it does not matter if they flee or not, as the mark may still claim them. One story talks of a sailor who fell down a well and drowned just mere months after being stung. Another fled to the wilds, but wound up dying from a gut disease due to drinking from a foul pond. One tale tells of a man who died of a heart attack hours after drinking water, and there is an even more chilling one that is about a fellow who swore off drinking water forever but then still died anyway! Oooooo! Scary! Cripes, I can't even believe I am writing half of this stuff. How so many people can be afraid of the Seabee to such a ludicrous degree is a mystery for the ages. Maybe I am in the wrong and there is something to all this, but I feel that this is all some serious overreacting. If a Seabee winds up on your boat, how about you just toss it back into the ocean?       Chlora Myron Dryad Historian