#I was too tired/lazy to detail the feathers & branch

[adarkroomandawallflower]

You are the bird

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 6

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst, threats, magic, feels, illness. A/N: Work was buuuuuusy today, so I can’t be arsed to proof read. You’re just going to have to deal with it, but I’m sure that’s okay, because you’re all amazing and understanding. A very special THANKS to those of you that re-blog. And comment. I see your names and it warms my heart and fuels my wish to write <3

(Image from google ‘cause I’m lazy and couldn’t find a proper GIF)

6. Holy Wood

…   Loki  …

Finally. Ever since the thundering defeat in New York (well, since he fell from the Bifrost), life has offered very little luxury to the man who still considers himself a prince and so being treated like royalty now they have arrived at Alfheim feels like a sweet relief from pain and misery. Leaned back, a glass of the famous, honeyed wine in his hand, Loki is finally able to relax for a moment.

Or...he could have if it wasn’t for the presence of a certain mortal whose nerves are higher strung than Captain Rogers.

He barely has any patient left to restrain himself after [Y/N]’s sixth round of the room.

“Sit down.” Although spoken calmly, she flinches at his request or perhaps the reason is how he pats the seat right next to himself on the couch.

Loki sees her hesitance, sees the warring in her mind. Still, she does as told and barely objects to the arm wrapping around her shoulders and dragging her down to rest against the pillows.

“I’m loathe to tell you this,” Loki whispers confidentially, “yet...although you have sold our little act to the guards you have still to convince me.”

Her breathing stills, smothered by a surge of panic. “I...it’s...I’m tryi-”

“Shhh.” Again, [Y/N] complies with his wish. “Don’t over-complicate this, it really is quite simple. Hmm? By saving one life, you save the lives of those you love. Is that not a noble cause?”

The perfect lips part, still, then close without an answer slipping past. Like a child, the woman is wringing the silk of the long sleeves between her fingers as if the words she so desperately needs will drip from there. Once more, she tries, giving up with a shuddering breath.

My patience is wearing thin. “Tell me.” Simple words with the strength of creeping frost.

“HowcanIknowitwon’tleadt’worse?!” Covering her mouth out of fear more will tumble out, [Y/N] stares at him with wide eyes.

Loki could force her hands away or threaten her to explain herself, instead her gently laces his fingers with hers to grant her the freedom of speech. He can feel her hands shaking, clammy sweat covering the soft palms, and he wishes for a moment that his magic could grant her strength. Am I becoming weak? Shoving the thought aside, the god pins her with a gaze.

“Explain yourself.”

Again, she hesitates, but this time not for long. “I want to save my friends and family...probably the priestess too...” [Y/E/C] eyes meet his for the first time in days. “But what if that in turn will get even more people killed? You’re not exactly known as the peaceful kind, and now you want these people to be in your debt? Why? To use their army or something? To-to try and take over Earth again?!”

Ah, of course. “Your pathetic world is of no interest to me..besides: Alfheim has no forces to speak of.” It’s obvious to Loki that she doesn’t believe him. “What they have is a special kind of magic and I need that.”

“Why?”

“To attain my birthright.” Brows wrinkle in endearing confusion and Loki finds himself reaching up to smooth it away with a thumb. “You know me as a Prince of Asgard, yet I am also the rightful king of Jotunheim...a world which has been laid barren years ago at the hands of a thoughtless youngling in anguish.”

“Hah! Let me guess: you want me to believe the Alfheim-...Alfia-...the magic of these people can, what, restore that place? Yeah, good one!” Met by his silence, [Y/N] grows quiet too. Her own words echo soundlessly on her lips as she reconsiders the possibilities in world unlike the reality she used to know. “But...if they can aren’t you, like, uhm...are there anyone else? Going to live there?”

“Perhaps I shall be the only inhabitant for a while, however there will always be people in search of a new home.” People who have been cast out, abandoned by those they thought the world of.

...  Reader   ...

The answer you have gotten is not at all what you had expected from someone as ruthless as Loki. Invasion, kidnapping, war.  Those are the qualities associated with the black haired man. Lies too...but why use something as this as a cover for his real intentions? It would make him seem “nicer” in my eyes, for one. Biting your lip, the plethora of potential scenarios are dizzying and you know better than to trust him. But...a stolen glance proves little: brows furrowed over green eyes that seem fixed on a place far, far away.

“Who...” Stopping again, you reconsider how to get to the truth. “What would make anyone destroy an entire country?”

Loki’s attention snaps back to you with the force lightning, making the hairs stand on end. “Not just a country, mortal, a world. The realm of Jotunheim was the home planet of the Jötun.”

“Oh.” What else can you say?

For a second, the god seems far away, a shadow creeping over his features and a weight clinging to his shoulder, then he sighs but before he can say what’s on his mind, a handful of the mesmerizing people arrive to usher the two of you along.

Down another hallway, this one less lavishly decorated, and through a set of doors into an indoor forest. Slender trees with silvery bark stretch towards the high ceiling where a gazillion crystals hang. Gold details decorate every other branch, twinkling between the small, green leaves that make you think of spring time. As if it wasn’t breathtaking enough, the only stone on the floor is a weaving path while everything else is moss (oddly comforting in a familiarity you can’t pinpoint) and flowers of silver, white, and gold.

At the centre of this indoor glade is a mix between an altar and a bed. On it lies a figure, so skinny the cheeks are hollowed, every bone can be counted, and every vein stands clear like a mountain range. A rattling breath is the only reason you know for sure that this person is alive. The priestess. Your stomach rolls, threatening to spill the last meal, from the adamant certainty she is in pain.

Damn you, Loki. Of course he’s right: even with the (very likely) risk of betrayal, there’s no way you can let the poor girl suffer like this. Not when you know you can change it. His hushed encouragement is unnecessary as your hands already are coming to rest on the patient’s forehead and chest.

...  Loki   ...

Not a single person dares to move when [Y/N] first touches the priestess and even the Jotun finds it impossible to look away from the artful hands, feather-light as they are with the borderline caressing gesture. Soft skin. Dexterous fingers. The sight creates a longing Loki instinctively knows could change him if it ever was fulfilled, and so he is thankful for the distraction of the Älfir mumbles when the Midgardian woman begins to sing her magic.

It’s a soft tune, barely audible in the deadly quiet room where the priestess has been laid to either absorb the life infused in every aspect of the place...or die and return to the light from which the people of Alfheim believe they hail. After a while a few of the elder begin to hum, weaving the little magic they might possess into that of [Y/N]. The words...they are similar. Yet, where Loki understands the common tongues spoken in more than the Nine Realms, this language is unknown to him and apparently the majority of the Älfir. How can she...?

The spectators’ attention is eventually diverted by the visual changes in the Priestess’ countenance. With bated breaths, they watch the return of muscles and the filling of her previously sunken facial features – the improvement to small to see from minute to minute but unmistakable after ten-fifteen minutes have passed, allowing Loki to reacquaint himself with the sweet sensation of confidence that his plan will work.

A second feels like an hour. Entire eternities pass before the rattling quality of the Priestess’ breathing diminishes. By then, Loki has started keeping a sharp eye on the woman making it all possible as [Y/N]’s hands have begun to tremble and her posture is increasingly hunched over. She’s tiring herself out.

Stepping up to stand right behind her, he leans in to whisper in her ear, “I believe you have done enough.” The only response is a shake of the head, barely enough to stir a hair on her pretty head.

When the young patient’s eyelashes flutter and her skin possess the glow of her kin, [Y/N] is shaking and swaying so badly the Jotun gives in to the urge to steady her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he urges her to lean against her, let him support some of her weight, only to be surprised at the coolness of her body – to him, she usually feels scalding – still, clammy sweat clings to the mortal’s skin.

“Your task is complete. Stop now.” From where Loki stands, he can barely see the gentle pull of the mouth but he does notice how blown the pupils are even the few times [Y/N] manages to open her eyes completely. “I’m ordering you to stop.”

She doesn’t. Not until the Priestess breathes in deep and opens her eyes...then finally, the Midgardian stops singing and collapses in Loki’s arms.

[xxpadfootxx]

🐾Night Terrors & New Beginnings - Part 5 (The Black Dog)🐾

In the weeks that followed his therapist visit, Izuku could feel himself starting to heal from the traumatic ordeal. His medication had arrived from Haruka and it was working very well, forcing down the pain in his body and erasing the strange dreams that plagued his sleep. The brand still remained on his hand and it was showing no signs of fading but he was willing to take what he could get at the moment. The school days got easier as his friends finally stopped asking him to relive the attack and the whispers of the other class students fell away into nothingness. But even as training started to take his mind off of things, even as his life began to reform into one of a comforting routine, Izuku could never shake off the thoughts about that dragon.

Izuku groaned and ran a hand through his hair, rereading the word problem on his math homework for the fifth time in a row and leaned back in his chair. He wanted to be able to focus and just get it done, it wasn’t that difficult, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. The memory replayed in his mind again, his brain bringing him back to that bloody meadow with the scary men and the terrifying yet beautiful dragon. Izuku growled in frustration. That was the thing! He wanted to fear and hate the dragon. He wanted to conform to normality and say that the dragon had taken him as an evening snack, but he felt in the back of his mind that that was simply not true. He tried to think back to the memory once more but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t remember what had happened after the men had charged them.

With a defeated sigh, Izuku closed his textbook and folded his homework away, preparing to complete it in the morning, and reached into his bag for an old book he had picked up at the library that day. He had already read it, and many others like it, but maybe he had missed something. The book was a book on strike class dragons, describing their personalities, strengths, weaknesses, and most common quirks which could be affected by anything from their environment, to their food, to their mating patterns. Izuku opened it and flipped once more to the single page on the Night Fury that was available. All of the dragons in the book had been studied meticulously so that there were pages and pages of information about each one such as how to survive an attack from each species and who to call if one is spotted near you. The Night Fury, however, had information that barely even took up half a page and while the other dragon pages contained highly detailed photos and graphics of each species, the Night Fury just had a question mark in the center of the page with vague facts about the dragon around it.

Izuku knew that it was helpless but flipped through the book anyway, rereading all of the facts about the Night Fury with critical eyes. All of the facts were vague and uninteresting as if the author of the book had been too lazy to find anything more than random facts online about the beast. Izuku knew this wasn’t the case as every book he had read on the Night Fury had come up with the same results but he still felt frustrated and unsatisfied. After almost an hour of reading through every single detail, Izuku tossed the book over his head where it landed on a pile of other pointless dragon books. His hands were shaking and he ran them through his green hair again. He was desperate for answers but he couldn’t find anything. “Izuku! Come out for dinner honey!” His mother’s voice snapped him out of his feverish reverie and he was able to take a deep breath before replying.

“Coming mom!” Glancing once more at the pile of books on his floor, Izuku stood up to go eat.

________________________________

Izuku came home from school and threw his backpack onto the couch with a groan. He felt so tired but also so restless as if he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched and tracked. He supposed that he was technically being hunted by a bloodthirsty dragon but this somehow felt different. He felt as if he was experiencing severe anxiety but from a distant place, as if he were feeling the stress of another person. Letting out a distressed sigh, Izuku slumped over to the couch and dragged his bag toward him, opening it up to grab the new dragon book that he had picked up at the library that day. He didn’t really expect it to help very much but he had to do something. He was so damn sick of sitting around, doing nothing.

Little did he know, his mother was watching him from around the corner in their kitchen, her worry growing as she saw his nervous behavior and the book he had pulled out of his bag. She wanted to help him so badly but felt as if she could only watch him struggle from afar, forced to watch him sink deeper and deeper under the sands of anxiety and paranoia. She stood up straighter as she realized he had started to shake and set her face into a determined smile as she rounded the corner, growing desperate to help him.

“Izuku?”

“Oh, Mom! Sorry, I didn’t know you were there, what can I help you with?” He closed his book and slid it under his leg to obscure the title and looked up at her with a pretty convincing smile on his face. But she knew better, he was her son. She placed a hand on his shoulder before leaning in to give him a hug.

“I know you have been struggling, so why don’t we eat dinner early tonight and go out for some dessert treats tonight? I have to run to the store to get some more medical supplies anyway since we have used most of our stock on your more recent injuries.”

Inko saw shock feather lightly in her son’s eyes but then they brightened and he smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks.

“That sounds really nice, Mom, thank you.”

“Anything to make you feel better, sweetie.”

After eating and making a small list of the supplies they would need, the pair left the house and walked out together down the sidewalk towards town. It was a little bit of a far walk but it wasn’t anything too rigorous and Izuku enjoyed the quiet company he had with his mother as they walked. They went out and got some Taiyaki before heading to the pharmacy to pick up some of the more basic medical materials such as gauze and bandages and disinfectant. They left the store and headed back toward their home just as the sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, casting the sky into shades of pale violet, radiant orange, glossy red, and pastel pink. Izuku felt the most relaxed than he had in weeks, the violent memories of the dragon attack fading away into blurry afterthoughts that barely registered as a dull buzz in his mind. He and his mother laughed together and walked with their arms around one another as the sun began to dip beneath the roofs of houses, the last rays clinging to the edges of the buildings with golden fingertips. The pair were almost to their home when the rustling of bushes caught their attention. Izuku felt his mother tighten her grip on his shoulders and she moved forward a little bit as if to protect her son from any threat that may come their way. The rustling got louder and closer, until the branches of the bushes right beside them parted.

A piece of the deepening night limped out of the bushes, its eyes, dull with pain. It was a black dog. Izuku and his mother stopped walking as the creature stumbled out in front of them, its head, turning just slightly to look at them clearly. As the light around them was beginning to seep away, it was hard for them to tell exactly what was wrong with the dog, but no matter how dark it got, they could easily tell that the poor beast was horribly messed up. It looked to be a German Shepherd of some kind as it was of lean but muscular build and had pointed ears but its fur was a velvety midnight black.

“Izuku, stay behind me,” Inko stepped even further in front of her son and place an arm in front of him like a bar so as to barricade him from moving any further. She had no idea who’s dog this was or why it looked like it had just come back from surviving the apocalypse but she also didn’t know if it was friendly or not and she did not need her son to live through another animal attack. The dog looked up at her, its eyes glazed in pain before suddenly collapsing to the ground. Inko and Izuku were too stunned to move for a moment but after a little while, Izuku stepped past his mother’s arm and bent down near the dog.

“Izuku-”

Izuku held up his hand slightly and glanced at his mother, the corners of his mouth twitching upward slightly in a comforting smile. He hesitated for a moment before placing a hand on the dog’s flank. He felt the feather-light rise and fall of its chest. He turned back to his mother and took a deep breath.

“Let’s take it back home with us,” Izuku said. His mother looked momentarily horrified so he pressed on quickly.

“Come on, the only nearby veterinarian’s office is almost thirty minutes away and it is probably already closed and if we leave it here, it will die. I don’t think it will try to hurt us if we help it survive,” Izuku turned back to the dog. “Please, I need something like this, to help someone in need.”

Inko still hesitated but after another quick moment of thought and a glance at her son, who was still staring at the dog that lay panting softly on the road, she let out a sigh and nodded to him. Izuku brightened up a little bit and leaned down to wrap his arms around its back behind the shoulders and under its belly, in front of its back legs.

“Have you got that sweetie or would you like some help?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Izuku said, hoisting the dog up into the air and starting to walk. His mother trotted up from behind him and only slowed when she was right beside her son.

“It's a good thing we bought new medical supplies,” Inko mumbled softly, looking up at the now black sky, watching the stars twinkle and wink above her like shattered diamonds in a black sea.

____________________________________________

It was around 3 am when the dog finally woke up, the unfamiliar surroundings, the sharp scent of fabric softener, the darkness all around it causing the dog to snap its head up in alarm and growl into the darkness, fear causing its heart to pound.

The growling woke Izuku immediately despite the fact that the sound was soft and almost inaudible. He shot up in his bed and swung his legs off the side, walking backward until he hit the wall with his back, his hands up in the air. He paused, and then placed one of his palms on the wall and felt around until he felt the switch and flicked on the lights. The sudden brightness in the room partially blinded the dog and caused it to growl again, Izuku tensed and didn’t move.

When Izuku and his mother had arrived in their home with the injured dog, they had worked for several hours to disinfect and wrap up its wounds with the supplies they had on hand. They were ready to take it to the vet and then to a shelter in the morning but they knew they couldn’t just leave it to sleep like it was, with gashes all over its body and what even looked like a mark from an arrow or knife in its side. The dog had been knocked out the entire time, which they had been a little grateful for, as they had given it a bath and rubbed medication and bandages all over the wounds. Once they had finished as much as they could, Inko had used old blankets and pillows to make a little bed for it on the floor beside Izuku’s bed. She had originally not wanted the dog anywhere near her son but as it had still been knocked out, and after Izuku had pestered her for an hour, she had finally given up with the promise that he would call her in if anything went wrong.

Finally, the dog seemed to get used to the light and glanced around the room, its eyes wide and almost calculating. While it was distracted, Izuku studied the dog, his own eyes roving over the bandages and black fur until their eyes inevitably locked on one another. Despite the fact that this was a dog, Izuku felt as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away from those eyes, they seemed so searingly familiar but it felt almost as if his brain was shoving down the memory, trying not to remember where he saw those eyes despite his curiosity. That’s when it hit him. There was only one memory that he had ever tried to shut out of his mind, the only thing traumatizing enough to make him want to forget. The memory burst past his mind’s efforts to block it and flooded his brain as if it had happened yesterday. Those eyes. Those eyes.

Izuku fought to keep his breathing steady, that was impossible, there was no way, a Night Fury was the rarest dragon in the world, it would have been captured by now. His body was shaking as he continued to stare at the dog, its eyes never leaving his. He remembered what the doctor had said at that moment, how Night Furies were renowned for their intense intelligence, sometimes even being able to learn and understand a human language. Could this dragon have possibly tracked him here using its own skills while also avoiding detection and capture? Was the dog transformation some kind of quirk or was he just going crazy and it was just a normal stray off of the streets? But the wounds, and the eyes, it just had to be that dragon.

The dog never broke eye contact but it didn’t attack him either, so Izuku slowly approached it with his left hand held out. The dog again did not react negatively, so he kept moving toward it, raising his right hand slowly, palm out. That was when the dog did something unexpected. It broke eye contact with Izuku and glanced at the mark on his right palm and wagged its tail. It was only two quick thumps and the dog froze with a growl, almost as if it were surprised by that reaction as well, but Izuku took that as a good sign.

“I-I w-want to-” Izuku paused and cleared his throat, still moving forward slowly. “I want to help you, I don’t really know why b-but you d-did s-save me. I owe y-you now… j-just please don’t e-eat m-m-me.”

Izuku saw the dog’s eyes widen as he slowly kneeled down in front of it. Taking a deep breath, Izuku closed his eyes and held out his right hand, his brand glowing a deep ocean blue. The world suddenly seemed to melt away as he felt his hand touch the dog’s forehead, that same warm and cold feeling flowing into his palm until Izuku’s consciousness faded into darkness.

[arataandthegarden]

Feathers and Blood- an OC Hunger Games AU

Oh boy here we go. Just an AU we wrote with our characters. NOT CANON!!!

Trigger warnings: violence, gore, swearing, death, torture, slight rape mentions, suicide, my horrific writing skills, etc.

This story can also be read on Dragon’s Wattpad: ILackAesthetic

Yeah whatever it sucks but here it is. Also, the middle of the story is missing because I’m too lazy to actually finish that part. I’ll explain stuff when I get there and feel free to ask questions:

Dragon looked at the young pup with her fearful amber eyes. He seemed like he was only… twelve years old? She didn’t want to kill him, but she had to. Every wolf for himself.

After all, this was the Hunger Games.

Screaming “I’m sorry!” while running at the pup and ramming into him, she pinned him down. With chaos turning all around as other tributes fought for their lives, she bit down hard on his throat and jerked her head to the side. Sickening, hot blood sprayed her face and seeped into the dirt. One small and dying paw attempted to slash at her with a knife. It failed miserably.  She spat out the furry lump of flesh in her mouth and pried the blade from the fellow canines paws. She held the knife in her mouth and sprinted for the treeline, snatching up a black backpack as she went. She put it on with shaking paws..

As she ran she glanced back to see the avian wolf from District 1 fly the other direction with humongous purple wings. Dragon squinted and watched her soar away. The avian held no weapon. That made every inch of her pale blue fur stand on end. That wolf must’ve been skillful to go unarmed.

Wait wasn’t the avian a career?

Was she abandoning her pack?

Dragon nearly ran face first into a tree, snapping her back into reality. She bolted around the tree and continued her journey into the forest. She had no time to observe her surroundings; she had to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. Besides, she was fairly certain the entirety of the arena was woodland anyway. That was good, especially since she was a woodland wolf who came from District 7: the lumber district.

She was born around trees. She has lived around trees. Now she will die around trees.

Trees, trees, trees.

She missed her family and her few friends. It was unlikely that she would see them again, however. The odds weren’t exactly in her favor, and they never were. Back home she trained as a papermill worker, not as the typical District 7 lumberjack. She had never touched an axe in her life. All that she was talented in wielding were knives and swords. Already she was a disappointment to her district. She wondered what her family thought of her now

She slowed to a walk, feeling a little tired of running. Maybe the human boy who came with her was a little less of a mistake. His name was Johnny and sure, he wasn't much (he was a skinny fourteen year old) but at least he could use an axe and at least he wasn't “breaking tradition.”

A cannon blast made Dragon jump. She forced herself to calm down a little to count the shots. They were usually delayed after the bloodbath at the beginning of the Games. Two… three… four…

!!!

Only four?!

Thats gotta be a record for the least amount of tributes killed during the bloodbath. It worried Dragon further. There were still twenty other tributes alive, leaving plenty of competition for her to face. Dragon wondered how big the career pack must actually be as well. She irrationally imagined herself being hunted down by some super pack made up of everyone else left it the arena. She pushed that thought aside.

The red blood staining her muzzle, neck, and her paws began to get crusty as it dried into her fur. She could still taste its awful metallic flavor in her mouth. So naturally, she decided to take a break from walking to find a safe pace to wash it off. If there was no water in her backpack, she would have to make do just licking herself clean.

Dragon quickly found a giant cedar tree. She backed up several steps from it. Then with incredible speed, she ran straight up the trunk. Her heart skipped an entire beat when she nearly slipped (Her nails were trimmed before entering the arena. Apparently that made her more attractive, but how the fuck was she supposed to do anything with short nails?) but she was able to regain grip just enough to pull her body to a branch. She was thankful she could climb. It was one of the few skills she actually learned while living in District 7. She took a deep breath to force herself to relax and slid her backpack carefully off her back. She opened it as she plopped down on the tree limb.

Inside the bag was a roll of crackers (she wasn’t hungry yet), a bottle of water (half full), another knife, some rope, and a small black blanket. Such a lucky bag; all of the objects could be useful. She just hoped that it wouldn’t rain. There was no jacket in the pack. Wolves and canines never entered the arena with clothing since they survived well enough without it. However, humans who died easily of exposure required clothing.

She compared the knife to the one she took from the boy she murdered. The one she killed for was long and wicked sharp while the other was shorter, but seemed to have more utility purposes judging by the fact that it was serrated near the handle. She left the serrated one inside her bag and put the sharp one in the bag’s side pocket. If she needed it, she could grab it quickly.

As for the water, she didn’t want to waste it on cleaning herself. Water was precious in the arena and the bottle was only half full. So Dragon licked a paw and started to wipe at her face. She probably looked like a common housecat, grooming herself up in the trees. After hours of gently scratching and pawing at her face, she saw the blood coming out on her paw less and less. Eventually, she was satisfied enough to move on to her paws.

Just as she felt somewhat presentable, her ears pricked as she heard the Capitol anthem drifting over the treetops. She looked up to the sky, seeing the Capitol seal projected amongst the stars. It was already night time?! She had been so focused on cleaning herself that she had lost track of the time! She stood up to a sitting position and prepared to count the dead.

The first image in the sky was the pup Dragon killed. He was from District 6. She looked down at the ground, ashamed with herself. Back home, they would be replaying her kill in every bloody detail for all to see. Probably from multiple camera angles as well. And maybe in slow motion. She looked back to the air to see that a human from District 11 was dead and both of District 12 tributes were gone. Yep. Only four dead.

Dragon plopped back down on the branch, suddenly feeling exhausted and fatigued. Her stomach was turning anxiously. She needed to sleep, so she closed her eyes. However, a particularly frightening thought popped into her head: What about that winged wolf? Whoever she was, she could obviously fly. If the avian encountered her in the trees while she was sleeping, Dragon would be dead for sure. Of course, any flying creature in the games couldn’t fly very high. An invisible “net’ most likely covered the arena just over the tops of the trees. In previous games they existed for the sole purpose of keeping flying tributes from flying too high. When a tribute passes the limit, a nasty electric shock is administered through the tracking devices implanted in all of the tributes’ arms or forelegs. It wasn’t enough to kill the tribute, but it certainly was enough to deter anyone. Even a creature as mighty as a dragon.

Of course, dragons and other magical creatures were never put into the Hunger Games. Magical species lived in the Capitol and forced the non-magical to work for them in districts. That's how it’s always been and that’s how it’ll always be.

The woodland wolf put on her backpack and clambered back down to the ground. Hopefully, the avian will be more unlikely to find her on the forest floor. She found a fragrant flower bush (it was easy to find in the dark) and squeezed under its branches. In its leafy shelter, she drifted into a fitful and nightmare-filled sleep.

---

Dragon awoke to the sounds of rustling dangerously close. She lifted herself to a crouch as slowly and as quietly as possible, shaming herself silently when bright sunlight burned her eyes. It was nearly midday! How dare she oversleep! If whatever out there caught her, she easily would have been killed. Trapped beneath the thorns of the flower bush, escape would be impossible for the canine. She carefully scanned her surroundings through the bush’s entrance and nearly yelped at what she saw.

An arctic fox with silver blue fur stood on his hind legs, an oversized rain jacket clearly made for a wolf tied around his neck like a cape. He seemed to be dinning upon the raspberries of a nearby bush, glancing behind himself periodically. Dragon glared and sunk down a little further. She had completely missed the berries! First oversleeping, and now this! Hell, she was about as dead as a pork chop on a platter.

Mmm… Pork chops...

Holy shit she was hungry.

Berries aren’t all that different from pork chops, right?

No. Dragon froze. That fox she had seen during training. Wasn’t his name Lynx, from District 5? He was insanely quick on his feet and could very easily latch his tiny teeth around her throat, doing her in just fine. Armed, he might as well have been a miniscule juggernaut. She shouldn’t attack, but the idea of fresh berries sounded far better than those stale crackers in her pack.

How ‘bout raspberries on crackers? Fuck yeah.

Dragon prepared to pounce. If she surprised him, she would surely win. Picking up her knife, she inched forward on her belly towards Lynx. All she had to do was reach her paw around quickly and slit his throat, no problem. He just had to eat those berries for a little longer…

Leaves fluttered slightly overhead and Dragon ducked quickly back into her hiding place. Lynx turned his narrow face upward, ears swiveling wildly. Suddenly, he seemed terrified. In fact, he was scared stiff.

A blur of fur and feathers crashed in from the treetops like a great purple whirlwind. The avian! The winged wolf had the fox down in seconds with one silver paw obviously crushed between great blue jaws. She shook her head back and forth, shredding Lynx’s leg. The fox, screaming, was then thrown into the side of a tree. Dragon winced, hearing bones within Lynx’s ribcage snap (She also swore she heard the avian giggle quietly).

“No!” Lynx hopelessly pleaded with the avian and made an awful attempt to crawl away. “Let’s team up, Paint! No! STO-!!!” He cut himself off. To Dragon’s horror, he made eye contact with her through the bush. She shrank back further as he cried, “HELP ME PLEASE!!!”

But Paint (That seemed to be her name.) was upon him once again with powerful wings unfurling and this time she had his neck in her mouth. When Dragon saw her let go at last, terrible gurgling sounds escaped the fox’s torn windpipe, blood splattered into a slowing growing pool. A cannon finally fired and the avian seemed to relax. With wings closed neatly, Paint untied Lynx’s rain jacket and felt every pocket. Paint huffed loudly and tossed the jacket away, obviously finding nothing worth taking. Next, the avian regarded the fox’s body with clearly conflicted emotion until, to Dragon’s surprise, she picked up the body in her forearms and flew up and out of sight.

Dragon nearly left her hiding spot after waiting a few more moments just in case, but felt a warm and sticky liquid drizzle down her back. Blood was dripping from the treetops. She turned her head upwards hesitantly and nearly vomited at what she saw.

Paint, perched in the limbs of a towering cedar tree, had nearly her entire head buried within Lynx’s chest cavity, eating out the heart or lungs of the tiny canine. The dead fox was draped limply across a branch with still wide-open eyes staring blankly down at Dragon. As Dragon observed the avian, she began to shake in terror. Paint was insane!  There was no other explanation to the devouring of Lynx, but the explanation raised further questions. Why would the Gamemakers allow Paint to consume the dead body of a tribute? Usually, the Gamemakers killed those exhibiting those with cannibalistic qualities. Why hadn’t a hovercraft came to retrieve the body yet? That was a pretty standard procedure in the Hunger Games.

When Paint moved on to the stomach area of Lynx with a tremendous ripping of flesh (The poor fox was going to have to be cremated, if what was left of his body was to be retrieved!), a horrifying idea floated into Dragon’s head like a ghost. The Gamemakers clearly had something big planned.

And it had everything to do with the avian.

Suddenly, a cannon shot broke the air. Paint visibly jumped, as did Dragon. Another death! The avian stood up on the branch, balanced precariously for a moment, and spread her wings gracefully in preparation for flight. The winged wolf leapt from the limb and soared out of sight. This time, Dragon was certain Paint had left for good.

Dragon slunk out from under the bush and quickly made sure she had everything packed within her backpack. Then she put her knife in her mouth, brushed off her sapphire fur (It didn’t occur to her how unfortunately brightly colored her pelt was!), and proceeded towards the raspberry bush. A puddle of blood tainted the dirt nearby, making Dragon cringe a little. Lynx was terribly unlucky to die in that fashion.

“The odds weren’t in his favor, huh?” Dragon muttered with the knife still in her jaws, snorting once. Quickly, she covered her muzzle with her paws, dropping her blade. Guilt for laughing, even sarcastically, washed over her. The wolf turned up to Lynx’s hanging body. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to offend you. If I did, that is.” Blood merely dripped silently onto the leaves below.

She shrugged and returned to the raspberry bush. Bright red berries hung from bright green sprigs of leaves and prickly thorns. As fast as possible and while avoiding being pricked, Dragon ate quite a few straight off the bush. Their fresh, sweet flavor filled her mouth and satisfied her greatly.

When Dragon stepped back from the raspberry bush, she let out a terrified yelp when she trod upon something other than the forest floor. Her heart rate quickly returned to normal when she realized that what was under her paw was only the rain jacket. She picked it up and examined it. Blood stained the sleeves formerly tied around Lynx’s now gaping hole of a neck. Other than that, it appeared to be wearable. Dragon put on the jacket. It fit, but the sleeves were a tad bit too long; she rolled them to accommodate. The blue-gray material of the jacket hid her vibrant blue fur. She picked up her knife and trotted away, leaving the body of Lynx for a hovercraft to pick up.

As she was walking, she quickly realized how urgently she needed to find a source of water. There was nothing around the Cornucopia, but there had to be a creek or river somewhere. The Gamemakers wouldn’t let the tributes die off by something as tame as dehydration!

… Would they?

Dragon shook off the thought and continued through the flower forest. She finally could get a good look at it, now that she wasn’t running for her life. All around great blooms of mostly pastel colored blossoms sprung from grand bushes, vines winding up towering trees, and even from the trees themselves. Each released its own unique and extraordinarily fragrant perfume into the air. Some, as Dragon was beginning to grow wary of, shifted ever-so-slightly when she wasn’t looking. The tributes had to be especially careful of those, as well as any unidentifiable flower or fruit. Each could be poisoned or perhaps even bite.

Honestly, no one in their right mind was going to be tricked by a Gamemaker’s flower.

“In their right mind?” Dragon muttered. “If that's the case, Paint should probably drop dead from sniffing a flower. Any day now…” But she knew better than that. The avian may be insane, but she certainly wasn’t just a stupid brute from District 1. The way she had targeted his throat and ambushed him… and without a weapon too! Hell, she had a training score of eleven! Paint was clearly skilled and therefore couldn’t be much of an idiot.

Dragon wandered for about another few hours, pausing only to eat some more raspberries of another bush and to take a couple cautious sips from her water bottle. Since she couldn’t find any water, all that she allowed herself to drink was a drop at a time. As for the berries, they looked to be plentiful in this part of the forest, so why not indulge herself? She decided to save her crackers for another day.

Why haven’t the Gamemakers driven her to some more action, that was something Dragon didn’t know. Apparently, there was an event far more interesting happening elsewhere in the arena. A cannon fired, making Dragon smile. Such as a death, perchance? What did that leave… Seventeen? Quite a few, really. The Gamemakers better speed things up a little, or else the Capitol and maybe even King Scalro will lose interest. She shuddered, hoping that they won’t.

[Note (PLEASE READ): HEY HEY HEY IT’S ME THE WRITER BRINGING YOU A NOTE!!! The middle portion of this story is missing!!!! Wow!!!! So here is what happens between where we left off and the next part: Another tribute dies (his name was Mech). Dragon watches as careers (Bastion, Margret Marble, Kai, and Skylie) kill Johnny (also from District 7). Dragon runs and teams up with a wolf named Prism and a wolf named Capala. Prism dies and Capala is stabbed with a spear by careers. Dragon is still alive yay.

Next portion of the story is probably very triggering to people since it ramps up in intensity a lot. The story is kinda cringy, too. You have been warned.]

A loud, slowly approaching rumble awoke Dragon. The tree she had been sleeping in shuddered slightly, and she knew exactly what was happening. An earthquake obviously manufactured by the Gamemakers was literally going to “shake things up a bit.” Half falling, half climbing, she clambered down from the branches and onto the forest floor. Immediately, the quake was upon her.

The ground beneath her paws gave a massive roar as the earth rolled. Dragon fell on her face after briefly being thrown into the air. Her teeth clacked together, making her skull flood with a sudden pain and causing her eyes to tear up and see black dots swim through her vision. She yelped, and scrambled to regain her balance on the shaking arena. The world was a cacophony of cracking trees with roots abruptly clawing at the blue sky and wide, opening crevices speedily snaking their way towards her. The cries of animals, such as the deer now fleeing past the wolf, also filled the air. A cannon fired.

Dragon jumped up and bolted away from fissures, screaming. A cedar collapsed in her path. She was forced to backpedal and sprint in the other direction. Behind the wolf, entire trees and flower bushes were being swallowed up by the earth. Another cannon went off.

She soared over a gaping rupture, nearly falling to her death down below. Her pounding heart skipped a beat as she was caught hanging above the quivering chasm and had to claw herself up to “solid” ground. On the other side, huge spikes of rock shot through the dirt, a few impaling a couple of very unfortunate animals like giant bloody spears. Dragon prepared to leap into this minefield, but the arena suddenly silenced, the last booming sound being that of a cannon. Three. Three dead. She vividly imagined the last to die impaled upon the stone spears like some gory war trophy.

Just like Capala...

She crawled beneath the roots of a fallen oak to regroup. Her head and jaws throbbed from when she had fallen. She hoped that she didn’t have a concussion. Back in District 7, a kid couldn’t come to work for weeks due to a head injury. The doctor told him to rest, but if Dragon truly did have a concussion, there would be no resting in the arena. To add further insult to injury, several minor scrapes and bruises covered her body. The rain jacket was torn in several places. Apparently, she ran into quite a few brambles fleeing from the quake.

“Wh-where even am I?” Dragon questioned herself as she peered carefully around the roots of her hiding place. Her eyes widened. All around her, giant chasms yawned to the sky as plants and flowers lay entirely uprooted, rubble and dust coating everything. The beauty of the arena had transformed into ruins. The Cornucopia stood tall above the destruction, the one thing left completely untouched by the earthquake. Holy fuck it was so close. The Gamemakers had drawn her here, and perhaps many others, back to the starting point. Genius, really. She assumed that the resources still within the Cornucopia were safe. With the “natural” berries and fruits destroyed, it was the only source of food in the arena for tributes who couldn’t hunt.  

Dragon’s ears pricked, hearing voices from inside the Cornucopia. The career pack! Cowards! They probably ducked in there as soon as the quake began, as they never strayed far from easily obtainable sustenance. She shrank back when she saw Bastion emerge, his thick fur and build quickly recognizable. She watched as he sniffed the air and beckon for his companions, who all came out at once. Everyone seemed to be with him, but Dragon noticed that Marble was missing.

“Boy oh boy! That was one hell of a shaker, ay Sea Bass?” Syra said, giggling and nudging the wolf, who simply huffed. He obviously didn’t enjoy the nickname given to him by, presumably, the District 4 leviathan. A sea bass was a type of fish caught by the seafood district, right? Dragon didn’t remember.

“Well… We’ve lost Marble on the stone spikes, so our team has shrank,” said Marge, matter-of-factly. The pack must’ve been outside the Cornucopia when the earthquake happened. “That isn’t exactly something to celebrate. We’re weak now.” She had one hand on her sheathed sword. The human girl had something big planned, Dragon could tell.

Kai groaned. “Ugh, so what! That means we’ve knocked out another district! How many are out now…” He counted on his fingers. “Four? Marble being dead is a great thing! Far less to deal with!” Margret glared, but made no moves against him.

“SHUT UP!!!” Bastion yelled. The pack stared at him with wide eyes, Kai nearly dropping his trident. Dragon fought the urge to laugh out loud. The careers were genuinely terrified of him. “Who cares if Marble’s dead or not! Paint’s still out there, and we currently have no cover from avian attacks. Look around you! ALL THE TREES ARE GONE!!!” He took a deep breath and looked down at his paws. “So please just… chill, okay? Paint is our biggest concern.”

Kai and Syra mumbled in agreement but Margret continued to be unconvinced. “Really? REALLY?!” she shouted, hand now fully clasped around the hilt of her sword. Bastion flinched. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about! We haven’t even encountered Paint once! Fuck, I doubt she’s even as good as you say she is, Bastion. I think you’re LYING.” A slight squeak rose in Dragon’s throat when she saw Marge draw her weapon and jab it aggressively at Bastion, who jumped back to avoid it’s tip. The District 4 tributes simply watched.

“Wha-!” He shook his head, and picked up his spear. “I don’t understand!”

“YES, YOU DO UNDERSTAND!!! You’ve been using us since the start!” she wailed. “I think you’re trying to FUCKING PROTECT HER!!!” Margret swung her blade, but it was deflected by the raising of Bastion’s spear.

“STOP IT!!! I’M THE LEADER HERE, GODDAMMIT!!!” He rose onto his hind paws to jab the spear, but it was parried sideways by the girl. She lunged viciously, and the sword planted itself in Bastion’s ribcage. He slumped immediately, blade having pierced his heart and a cannon fired. Margret pulled out her sword and turned to the District 4 tributes, who both gawked at her. Dragon saw that her expression was one of sheer boredom, as if killing Bastion was just a waste of time and energy. It shocked the wolf to the core, far more than the murder itself. No, not murder. This was the Hunger Games.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The career pack, now only a trio packed up their things and ran off together. Dragon got up (with an aching complaint from her head), and slinked after them, ducking behind the trunks of trees to avoid being spotted. Maybe they knew of some type of shelter? Careers tended to travel with far more confidence, since they were deadly tributes to target with their large numbers and rarely rivaled skill in battle. Unfortunately, these careers obviously didn’t know where they were going. Arguing frequently, the journey to an unknown destination was slow and irritating. The District 4 tributes continuously glanced up at the sky. Apparently, Bastion’s words on Paint stuck with them. Thankfully, the avian was nowhere to be seen. She had probably taken to the skies when the earthquake occurred, flying off to a far side of the arena

At last, in the middle of the night and long after the fallen tributes were displayed in the night sky (Marble, a human girl from District 6, and a human boy from District 8 died.), the careers made a discovery. Dragon could tell simply by the loud and obnoxious whoops and shouts. She crept a little closer, careful to remain hidden behind a surprisingly undamaged raspberry bush. As she listened to the celebration of the careers, she popped quite a few berries into her mouth. Since she had been so invested in stalking, she completely forgot to eat! So damn forgetful…

The careers were standing at the edge of an enormous, twenty meters wide chasm, peering down into the depths. On the walls of the chasm were giant cracks and fissures, seeming to run farther underground and beneath their feet. They were tunnels, built by the Gamemakers to add an entirely new layer to the Hunger Games. Literally.

Margret soon found the entrance to a particularly large wall opening. A huge cedar lay diagonal, spanning the chasm in a natural bridge. Well, probably not too natural. The Gamemakers most likely added it for the specific purpose of being a path to the possible tunnels further beneath the earth.

“Come on,” Margret said. She shoved Kai towards the bridge with both hands. The boy stumbled forward and onto the log, wobbling precariously over the edge. Dragon held her breath and hoped that he would fall, but Kai quickly regained his balance.

He took two careful steps forward before glaring at the other two tributes. “What are you waiting for? Let's get going.” He continued slowly down the log and out of Dragon’s view. The sapphire wolf watched as the career girls looked at each other for a moment then followed Kai, Syra walking in front of Margret.

Dragon waited precisely thirty seconds (she counted in her head) before sauntering over to the ravine and peering over the edge. The crevasse was so deep, it made her injured head spin and her stomach turn; she wasn’t even afraid of heights! The careers were nowhere to be seen. They were probably in the tunnels.

She steeled herself with a slow, deep breath and placed one paw after the other onto the log. It wasn’t too hard to balance, but the thought of falling to her death made her legs shake a little. A gust of wind pushed her and threatened to throw her over the edge. However, she clung on well enough and managed to make it all the way to the entrance of the tunnels. She turned around to look at the bridge she had crossed. It would be hard for her to go back, especially because she was so afraid of falling!

Dragon sniffed the air of the dark tunnels and swiveled her ears, trying to figure out the location of the careers. They seemed to have retreated far into the caves. It was safe for her to continue.

She entered the tunnels. The air around her was cold and dry, but strangely pleasant on her fur. There was no light in the caverns, but her eyes adjusted well enough. Wolves could see pretty well in darkness.

There were separate caves everywhere! They branched off of the main tunnels and formed their own small rooms. Dragon quickly found a nice one and decided to enter. She could rest here.

Dragon sighed, taking off her rain jacket and spreading it carefully on the cold stone floor. She promptly lied down upon it, unzipping her backpack. She grabbed out the roll of crackers. She peeled back the plastic wrapping a bit and stuffed one into her mouth, chewing slowly. She was exhausted by hours of endless walking, but she must eat. She swallowed and gave an upset glance at the cracker package. She was going to run out of food if she didn’t forage or hunt soon, but if she ate only one cracker a day… No, that would be unwise and only leave her weak when she is attacked by a fellow tribute. She unwrapped the package further and was about to eat one more cracker, but froze when she heard pawsteps thunder down the tunnel.

A tribute was approaching fast!

Dragon felt panic rise in her chest. Maybe they would just pass by if she’s quiet enough… She fell silent… The pawsteps drew closer and were accompanied by the runner’s gasping breaths… Any moment now and they would pass…

A huge ultramarine canine crashed into her cave! They threw a small, brown, and furry lump into a corner. Then their purple gaze caught Dragon’s from behind a pair of brown goggles, and the woodland wolf gave a small yelp of terror. It was the avian, Paint! She unfurled her wings and pounced upon Dragon, pinning her to the floor. Dragon only then realized that her knife was lying on the ground three yards away.

Holy fuck I’m going to die, Mom and Dad please turn away, don’t watch, SHIT she’s gonna tear open my throat, then my stomach when I’m dead as fuck and chew on my intestines and liver and heart and lungs, then she’ll pluck out my eyes to make a motherfucking necklace, then wear my fur like a goddamn cape I’m dead I’m so fuckin-

She opened her mouth to scream for no other reason than to scream (Who was gonna help her, anyway?), but Paint’s paw hit her hard across the face. Dragon’s voice came as a weak little whimper instead. Her nose started bleeding and her injured head filled with an aching  discomfort, but that was nothing compared to the darkness sure to follow. Her eyes stung. The avian drew her face in closer. Dragon squeezed her amber eyes shut and braced for her death.

I’m dead!

“Don’t scream,” Paint whispered, glancing once over her shoulder. Dragon had never heard her voice before and it sounded far different from what she expected. She didn’t know what she was expecting. “Don’t scream or you’ll get us both killed.” She sounded fearful. Dragon opened her eyes and hesitantly looked up at her attacker, noticing at once that the avian was covered in deep scratches and ragged bite wounds presumably from a pack of tiny carnivorous animals. One of her ears were torn. She must’ve been fleeing something before encountering Dragon. Whatever it was, it had hurt her badly.

“Wha-”

Paint hit her again, this time a lot lighter than before. Maybe she had noticed Dragon’s pain? “Shut the fuck up! They can’t see!” Dragon was extremely confused but nodded vigorously anyway, simply thankful that she hadn’t been slaughtered ruthlessly. The avian glared at her before turning her entire face towards the room’s opening, Dragon doing the same. Both canines held their breath and the cave became as noiseless as a dark and starless night. A weasel-like critter of a decent size, slunk into the entryway. The creature had an unusual pattern of yellow fur on dark brown. Accompanied by three others just like itself, it sniffed the air with tiny twitches of its little nose. Dragon nearly cried out when she noticed its face. It lacked eyes, and its mouth was stained scarlet. Her heart pounded.

Gamemaker mutts.

The canines and the weasels were at a standstill for only minutes, but the minutes felt like hours. At last, the beasts disappeared, itsy-bitsy paws padding down the tunnel. When the pair could no longer hear the weasels, Paint stepped back and allowed Dragon to stand. The woodland wolf did just that and looked briefly at her knife, which was unfortunately behind the avian. She stared back at Paint, who gazed back with a stern expression, purple eyes never faltering. Dragon sighed and looked away at a wall. Awkward. “Are… Are you going to… To kill me?” she uttered weakly. Paint continued to stare, waiting. Dragon cleared her throat and wiped her bleeding nose with a back of her paw. A little red smudge stained her fur. “Uh, I mean, I’d rather that you… didn’t kill me, you know?” Paint tilted her head, making Dragon realize that the avian was thinking deeply. “But! But if you are, please make it quick. Just cut my neck, okay? Is that good?”

Paint turned to the side and picked up Dragon’s blade. The woodland wolf flinched. “I’m not gonna kill you,” the avian said, expression remaining the same. “But I want this knife in return.”

“Y-yeah, okay you keep it.” She decided not to mention that there was a second knife in her backpack, just in case. Dragon frowned, abruptly remembering the death of Lynx. Paint hadn’t even needed weapon to completely annihilate the fox early on in the Games. Why did she want a weapon if she was powerful without one? She narrowed her eyes. “Wait… Why do you need my knife if you easily slaughtered the shit out of the fox from District 5?”

Paint’s face shifted into a genuinely confused expression. “What? I don’t remember killing anyone? Did I?” The avian plopped down to the floor. The canine looked unaware of the coolness of the stone surface.

“Um… Yes?” Dragon was equally bewildered. She settled down as well, she herself shivering slightly at the icy surface chilling her stomach.  Did the avian really not remember? It seemed to be so. Paint really did have some sort of mental issue, most likely an amnesia problem by the looks of it. It sorta saddened her. To forget you’ve even killed anyone… She decided to not mention the cannibalism. “Yeah, you did. I sa-saw you kill him. I was hiding in a bush.”

“Oh,” Paint muttered. Then, she frowned at Dragon. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” She wiped her eyes, suddenly realizing that she was. “Yikes…”

“Look, Dragon? That’s your name right?” The sapphire wolf nodded and cleaned her nose again. Paint sighed. “I’m not killing you yet, okay? Fucking hell, just stop it. Trust me, alright? Not yet.” Yet. The word bounced in Dragon’s brain until Paint continued with, “I think you’re kinda nice. That’s a good trait to have in the Hunger Games, in my opinion. You probably get all sorts of sponsors… Wanna team up? For tonight?” She stood up and stuck out a dark blue paw, making solid eye contact. Dragon hesitated, but took it. If it was sponsors the avian wanted, she would be awfully disappointed by how Dragon had failed to receive any gifts from outside the arena. They shook paws.

Paint smiled warmly at her before turning to a corner and picking up the furry mass she had thrown away when she barged in. She displayed it to Dragon proudly. A dead weasel mutt! She held it by it’s tail so it dangled limply in the air with its gaping mouth revealing sharp and bloodstained teeth. It’s spine, crushed and broken, looked to be the cause of its passing.

“Whoa! Did you kill that?”

“‘Whole group of these fuckers attacked me when I was entering the tunnels,” Paint explained. She sat down across from Dragon, putting the creature between them “That’s why I was running and that’s why I’m hurt.” She stared at the animal and shook her head, solemnly picking up her knife. “I guess the Gamemakers want me dead. That’s alright.” She gutted the weasel, pulling out sticky entrails and setting them aside. Strange, considering that Paint had no problem devouring Lynx’s innards. “I wonder if it’s edible.”

“Eh… I wouldn’t eat it… It could be poisoned or whatever.”

“I doubt the dumbasses down in the Capitol expected us to eat their mutts, so why the hell would it be poisoned?” The avian did her best to separate the carcase in half and gave one side to Dragon, who took it cautiously, casting a mildly suspicious look at Paint. The winged wolf scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I didn’t poison it either! Look,” she said, taking a bite out of her piece. No blood remained inside the flesh, since it had bled out completely quite a while ago. As she chewed, she cringed quite a bit. “See? It’s fine. The meat tastes gross, but it's fine.”

Dragon unenthusiastically ate a bit of weasel. Paint was right about the meat tasting weird. It was tough and chewy despite being raw. The flavor had a musty, festering aftertaste that made Dragon want to vomit it back up right away. She stomached it, thankfully, but wasn’t quite sure if she desired any more. “This is absolutely disgusting,” she grumbled, pushing the carcass away. Paint watched her stand up, then curl up on top of her still spread rain jacket with her back facing the avian. “I’m done. Uh... goodnight then.” She shut her eyes.

“Wait! Don’t sleep yet!” Paint exclaimed, completely forgetting her piece of weasel. “We should talk more! I haven’t talked to anybody since entering this damn arena.” She picked up her knife and settled down on her side with her back to Dragon, letting her big feathery wings brush her fur slightly. Dragon shuddered at their touch and imagined Paint clutching the blade’s handle like a teddy bear. It both amused and frightened her slightly. There was a tense, suspenseful silence for several moments before Paint at last continued with the question, “Have you killed anyone yet?”

Dragon hesitated before saying no. She then scooted closer to the avian, pausing to see if Paint would do anything. She didn’t. “Uhm… Paint... Do you like… Flying?” Paint snorted.

“Yeah dude! Who wouldn’t? Also, are you stupid? I’m an avian!”

The pair talked like this for hours until they drifted off to sleep.

---

Dragon’s back suddenly felt cold so she awoke, realizing at once that Paint had gotten up. Despite feeling lethargic, Dragon’s mind immediately jumped to conclusions and slipped quickly into a whirling panic when she realized how little they had actually slept. Why would the avian get up so soon?

Shit she was planning to let me fall asleep then slit my throat when I was out, how could I be so stupid as to trust her? what if she sees that I’m awake? hell, she could fucking rape me no problem since I’m still so tired and I probably have a mother fucking concussion, then kill me, what is she doing? what’s taking her so long, anyway? KILL ME ALREADY.

Dragon flinched when a paw, thankfully not a knife, tapped at her back twice. She looked up and saw the avian staring down on her, her odd purple eyes locking with her’s. “Oh!” Paint chirped. “You’re awake!”

She yawned. “Yep.”

Paint helped her up. “I think teaming up with you was a good thing. I got a sponsor!” The avian held a small black metal canister. On one end, the number one painted in dark blue signified who the gift was for. A small red light flashed slowly, accompanied by a slight beeping sound. “Should I open it?” Dragon nodded then eagerly watched her unscrew the container and take out a small jar and a slip of grey paper. Paint read the paper, but quickly stuffed it back into the larger canister. The avian opened the smaller container and on the inside was a semiclear, thick substance. “Oh cool. Some kind of ointment.”

Dragon frowned, suspicious. “What was on that note?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what the paper said.”

“No.”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“TELL ME!!!”

Paint, who seemed a little startled by Dragon’s yelling, finally gave in by saying, “Alright, but you’re not gonna like it.” She took out the slip and handed it to Dragon. Words were on it, typed in a neat, bold font. She read it quickly.

       This is for bite wounds. After applying to your injuries, kill her. -K

The woodland wolf glared at Paint. “I thought we were allies.”

“I told you. You weren’t gonna like it.”

Dragon sighed and let her scowl drift away. The avian was inevitably going to slaughter her anyway, and “ally” was a meaningless word in the Hunger Games. No use in getting upset. “Okay. You were right. I didn’t like it.” She decided to change the subject. “But hey! Looks like you got some medicine or whatever! That’s good!” Dragon yawned, feeling the combination of her injured head and exhaustion take her over again. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

The woodland wolf plopped back down, and shut her eyes but still she kept her ears listening. She heard Paint unscrew the ointment, and made out an audible wince as the avian was applying it. Eventually, the pull of sleep caught Dragon.

---

Dragon awoke relieved to be alive but she was a little startled by the avian.

Paint had one of her magnificent wings covering the much smaller woodland wolf like a blanket. She also had one paw around Dragon. The avian’s brown goggles sat near the other paw. The heat between them was frankly quite sickening and that hot sensation was probably the reason for Dragon awakening so… early? Was it early? Time was hard to tell underground. Yet another challenge in this year’s Hunger Games.

She carefully removed Paint’s giant, heavy paw from her side with some difficulty before squirming her way out from beneath her even weightier wing. A few feathers fell off the wing as she stood. She picked one up and inspected it. It had a lovely dull purple color and was a little ragged at the edges. Was her ally molting? Did avians molt like regular birds? There weren’t any avians living in District 7, at least any that she knew of. Perhaps they did, but was it significant?

Not at all, idiot… She’ll still kill you if you stay with her, molting or not.

Holy shit.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Stepping lightly, Dragon made her way quickly to her backpack and peered inside. Everything remained. She glanced longingly at her rain jacket, which was unfortunately trapped beneath the still sleeping avian. She knew there was no point in trying to take the jacket with her (it shouldn’t rain underground), but it hurt her a little to leave it behind. She despised wasting anything, especially now. Paint still had her knife (it sat beside her sleeping head), but Dragon decided to let her keep it. The weapon was a symbol of their temporary truce, mildly ironic as that was. It just seemed wrong to take the blade.

She swung on her backpack and took a deep breath. Time to go. The safety of solitude lurked just outside this cavern and in the tunnels outside. She reached the exit, but looked back one last time.

Something silver caught her eye.

The ointment! It was next to Paint’s head.

Dragon turned around and padded carefully over. The ointment could be useful later on. It would be so easy to steal since the avian seemed to be sleeping, but could she do it? Her heart thudded. If she woke up, the woodland wolf would without a doubt be slaughtered mercilessly for attempted theft. Well, she was going to die anyway…

She stretched out a paw and grabbed the jar.

Paint’s eyes shot open and the winged wolf launched herself at Dragon. Dragon cried out when sharp teeth sank into her shoulder, tearing deep into her flesh. Her head hit the ground harshly. Spots danced in her vision. She blinked them away, momentarily stunned, then kicked, shouted, and flailed. The jaws only tightened their grip. Tears welled up in her amber eyes. “I’M SORRY!!!” she cried. “I’M SORRY!!! LET ME GO!!!”

Don’t watch!

Paint finally released but hit Dragon hard across the face with a paw. Dragon yelped and shrank down further. The avian’s fur bristled savagely. “BITCH SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” hissed Paint. She struck her again. “I was gonna let you go but noooo, you juST HAD TO FUCKIN STEAL SHIT, DIDN’T YOU!!!” Paint’s fur bristled and fluffed up, making her look even more menacing.

“YOU WERE AWAKE?!”

“YEAH!!! I WAS!!!” Paint’s eye twitched once and she took a deep breath. “You’re lucky I missed your neck.” She got off Dragon, who was shaking. Her heart rate continued to race as blood oozed from her bite wound. Paint rolled her eyes at her and put on her goggles (it took her some time to find them) and said, “You can stand up now.”

Dragon rubbed the bite. It hurt. Dull pain stung her head. “N-nope. I’m good here.”

“Pfft! Okay.” Paint paced around. She had obviously cooled down (despite the fact that her hackles were still raised), but Dragon felt uneasy. Paint’s entire personality had shifted once, then shifted back, so quickly! She shut her eyes, listening to the cadenced pacing and allowing herself to calm down only slightly. Her original hypothesis, Paint was insane, still remained plausible. If her ally were to snap again, she most definitely won’t “miss.” She had to escape her. Her life depended on it.

“Hey! I asked you something!” Paint said, pulling Dragon’s attention back. She stared at Dragon expectantly.

“Uh…”

“I asked what we should do today?”

“Preferably not me haha...”

Paint looked at her questioningly before she snorted and rolled her eyes. “God… Look, I only slept like that with you so I would know when you got up.” Quickly, she added, “I really don’t like you, or whatever. Seriously.”

“Good.” Dragon felt herself relax.

“But really, what should we do?” Paint continued pacing and this time Dragon was paying attention. “The careers are still out there.” Paint paused and looked to Dragon. “How many are left? Four?”

“No. Three. Margret from District 3 killed Bastion.”

“She did WHAT?!”

“Sorry! I saw it myself! She stabbed him with a sword. He died quickly.” Dragon paused, thinking. “That sword sure was nice.”

Paint was silent; her eyes hidden behind her emo hair. She plopped down in front of Dragon, the avian lowering her head down onto her paws. A solemn silence fell in the cave. Dragon didn’t know why but she suddenly felt awful for Paint.

“Hey… We got this! Now the careers have to die, either because of us or because of the-” Dragon gasped, startling Paint. The most brilliant idea popped into her head. It was so good, it could kill two birds with one stone! “THE MUTTS!!! I have a plan!”

---

The pair wasted no time in leaving their camp, packing up all their things into Dragon’s backpack, including the rain jacket. Paint claimed that she still didn't trust the woodland wolf, but she still allowed her to carry the ointment in the backpack. “What?” Paint had said just minutes before. “You are the only one with a bag!” However, Paint kept her knife and did force Dragon to walk in front of her just to make sure the woodland didn’t try “anything stupid”.

Their plan (formulated entirely by Dragon) had two phases. The first phase was to find the weasel mutts and attract them somehow, preferably with noise. Once the pair had the mutts after them, they would set in motion phase two, which meant that they would let loose the mutts onto the careers, which they would find before phase one. Hopefully, the mutts will kill off the remaining careers, therefore improving the odds of all remaining tributes greatly.

A third phase was known only Dragon. During the chaos that would undoubtedly ensue during the ambush, she planned on fleeing the scene without Paint. She had to escape the avian soon, since she didn’t want to stick around when Paint snapped. The avian was the second bird Dragon planned on killing with that one stone, figuratively speaking.

Walking silently through the tunnels, hardly any conversation sparked between them. That fact remained until Paint asked, “How are we even supposed to find the careers? I don’t know how to track!”

Dragon, continuing to limp (her shoulder still hurt) ahead of Paint, responded, “I know how to track, well enough at least. You see, I have a great sense of smell.” She stopped and turned to Paint. The avian carried her blade in her mouth. “Can we take a break we’ve been walking forever.”

Paint stopped and glared at her. “No.”

“Fine.” Dragon turned and continued walking. “Sure all dragonican wolves can smell pretty good, but for some reason I’m great at it. It’s pretty handy when it comes to hunting back in District 7. All I need is a spoor to start out with.” She sniffed the air. The careers were nearby.

“So… You’ve been tracking the careers the whole time? Neat.”

Dragon ignored her and turned another corner. A small cavern created a dead end at this tunnel. The opening to this cavern gave a great view of of its contents: the entire sleeping career pack.

“Wow,” Paint whispered from behind the woodland. “You really are good.” She stepped in front of Dragon and gestured for her to turn back. Dragon obeyed her and immediately began her search for the weasels. The mutts left musty-smelling trails everywhere and they all seemed to travel in groups.

After just minutes, Dragon spotted the first weasel. It slunk about in the tunnel, lifting its head occasionally as if to attempt to see with its lack of eyes. The woodland wolf lowered herself to a crouch before she gestured for Paint to get down as well. The pair waited anxiously as two other weasels appeared, then another two. The five creatures squeaked to each other as if talking, before continuing down the hall away from the wolves lurking nearby. Paint, who had switched her knife from her mouth to her paw, glanced over at Dragon, but Dragon mouthed “wait” to her silently. They were going to need more mutts for this plan to work.

The pair of wolves prowled after the blind weasels, which were soon joined by four more. It was as if the Gamemakers were providing the allies with mutts. Perhaps the Gamemakers wanted the careers dead as well.

Dragon pushed the thought aside. All the Gamemakers wanted was drama.

She crouched lower, preparing to run. “Go.”

“HEY HEY HEY HEY!!!!” Paint screamed at the mutts. The weasels whipped around, surprised. “REMEMBER ME?! COME AND GET US YOU LITTLE SHITS!!!”

“YEAH GET US!!!”

The pair turned back down the tunnel and sprinted. The mutts screeched and barreled after them in a pack of terror. The group that they had following them doubled as several more joined in from branching tunnels and holes in the ground. One leapt high into the air and onto Dragon’s back, sinking its tiny teeth into the injured part of her shoulder. She yelped, but was able to shake the mutt off. She ran a little faster.

Just as exhaustion was about to catch up to the wolves, they rounded the final corner and burst into the career pack’s cavern. They ran into the back of the cave.

All three of the remaining careers woke up sleepily, but were instantly up and panicking when they saw the wave of weasels streaming in. Kai had no time to raise his trident before the mutts were upon him. The weasels attacked savage and ruthless, devouring the flesh off of his body, ending his life. A cannon fired.

Paint leapt for Syra as the cannon went off, wings unfurled and teeth bared. But Syra was quick. She rolled away, however, she rolled straight into the mass of squirming mutts. Despite this, was able to successfully shoot an arrow deep into the base of the avian wing before her cannon went off. Paint screamed and fell to the ground, clutching the shaft of the embedded arrow and dropping her knife. The weasels turned their bloody heads towards the winged wolf before leaping at her. Paint fought them off weakly and stumbled outside the cavern, the majority of the mutts racing after.

The remaining weasels turned to the final two tributes in the room (Marge had been crouched in the corner) and attacked. Four ran around Dragon, biting wherever they could. Meanwhile, Marge struggled with five others. She cut through two with a sweep of her sword and impaled another before charging at Dragon, sword low and aimed at the wolf’s neck. Dragon dodged to the side and backed up. She spotted the blade Paint dropped just as Margret lunged again.

Dragon leapt away, smacked a weasel from the air as it flew a little too close, and snached the knife off the floor. She stood on her hind legs and chucked the blade as hard as she could at the human girl. It zipped through the air and hit with an audible thunk.

The knife was in her throat.

Blood spurted around the knife as Margret sank to the ground slowly. She fell forward and onto her face as the cannon boomed. The remaining weasels immediately rushed over and began consuming her flesh.

Dragon turned and lurched silently out of the cave and out into the tunnels. As she was fighting, she didn’t realize how many times she had actually been bitten. Smears of her own blood were all over her fur and a fairly large chunk was missing from her lower back. She was exhausted too.

She soon found a small empty cave and passed out inside.

---

Dragon woke up an hour or two later, perhaps even longer than that (Once again, time was difficult to tell in the darkness of the tunnels). She used whatever was left of Paint’s ointment since it was still in her backpack, and her bite wounds healed well enough (including the bite from Paint). Nothing much happened in the following two days (she knew it was two days because every night she heard the Capitol’s anthem echoing through the tunnels). Only three times during these two days did she hear the cannons fire. She didn’t know who died since she didn’t go outside when the anthem was playing, but she was just glad there were less tributes to deal with.

She finished off her roll of crackers. They were very dry.

---

Pawsteps echoing down the tunnel, Dragon continued her wandering through the caves. She realized that the majority of the games consisted of her simply walking. She wondered how the Capitol never got bored of the Hunger Games, but then she reasoned with herself that she wasn’t the only one in the games, so other things constantly had to be happening in the arena. Things such as violence and murder.

But nothing happened today. There were only four more tributes left, if her math was correct. She didn't know exactly who was left and it concerned her. She really hoped Paint was dead, but deep down she knew that was highly unlikely.

Dragon rounded another corner, slowing down her pace. She tilted her head. Something smelled… off about this passage. The had a heavy metallic odor with a slightly salty undertone. Like blood and sweat. Something about the sweat part seemed familiar. She quietly continued on, but froze when she spotted something that made her heart race.

A purple feather.

“Fu-”

The avian suddenly appeared out of the darkness, barrelling straight into Dragon. Dragon’s scream was cut off as her head was slammed back into a wall, body slumping on impact.

She immediately lost consciousness.

---

Icy water splashed Dragon’s face, waking her almost immediately. Instinct told her to stand and wipe the liquid from her eyes but as she was about to do just that, she felt something restraining her. Her forepaws were tied behind a pole with some sort of smooth nylon rope. This same binding was wrapped once across her neck and three times around her chest. Her head ached. She was sitting in an upright position with her hind legs free to kick, which was alright, but her lower back hurt like hell. On top of it all, the humid air smelled unbearably of blood, rotting corpses, and agony.

She blinked the water from her eyes with difficulty and yelped at who she finally saw.

Paint was standing directly in front of her with an almost predatory and excited grin on her face. Almost her entire torso was wrapped in bandages, probably because one wing was completely absent from the avian’s body. Dark, nearly-dried blood seeped through the gauze around where the wing was once attached. The wing must’ve been amputated by Paint herself.

“P-Pain’t wh…. What’s going on?” said Dragon, pulling again a little more desperately at the ropes. She could hear the fear in her own voice. “Why am I tied up?” The avian simply continued to stare at Dragon. Dragon cautiously craned her neck to glance around the room (which turned out to be a cave of some sort), feeling Paint’s eyes follow her every move. The cave was illuminated by a small electric lantern. Behind the winged wolf, a another wolf was bound and gagged to pole similar to Dragon’s. She was small, orange-furred, struggling, and… Steaming? Dragon’s thoughts didn’t linger there for long and as she returned her gaze back to Paint, she asked shakily, “What are you going to do to me?”

The avian broke her silence and laughed, making Dragon flinch. The laughter wasn’t a particularly happy sound. “I’m gonna have a little fun of course! But, there’s another guest I have to take care of first,” Paint said, stepping away from Dragon and giving her a full view of the other tribute. The avian approached the orange wolf and sat down beside her while still facing Dragon. “This is False, from District 8. She’s a hybrid with a little bit of volcanic wolf in there somewhere. Therefore she’s a firebender and could easily just make a little flame and burn her way out of the ropes.” Paint turned away from Dragon to stretch out a paw to touch False’s face, but False pulled away with an audible growl. The avian snorted and gave up her attempt. “I had to douse her in water because she can’t do shit if her fur is wet. So she just sits here steaming and steaming, still trying to warm up.” She paused before turning back towards Dragon. “Her fur’s fireproof you know?”

“So…”

“I’m gonna keep her fur after I kill her slowly.”

Dragon’s mind fell into a panic. She didn’t want to watch whatever torture going to occur. She tugged on her bonds and kicked with her hind legs. Paint only watched, amused. “Let me go! LET ME GO!!!” cried Dragon. “PLEASE I WAS YOUR ALLY!!!”

“What do you mean, ally?” said Paint, voice full of ridicule. Dragon stopped struggling, confused. “Why would I be allies with… AHAHAHAHA!!! You were allies with HER!!! OHHHHH… Okay I see!” Paint laughed some more. “Of course I wouldn’t remember!”

“Who are you?”

The cave seemed to freeze in time at Dragon’s question. Even False seemed to quit squirming. Breaking the silence, Paint chuckled and gestured to herself. “I’m Paint, of course. I think you were talking to the other Paint.” She paused and added, “I’m the better one.”

Dragon ignored the last comment and instead focused on the previous. Her heart rate picked up a little more. The avian was insane with some sort of split personality disorder. She had heard of one wolf who lived in District 7 who had something similar. Some days he was himself, some days he was an eight-year-old pup, other days he was a forty-five-year-old human woman. Apparently the disorder was common in intelligent canids, but they were rarely violent. However, Paint seemed to be an unfortunate exception.  “You’re fucking crazy.”

“I know that,” Paint responded. “Well, let's begin shall we?” The avian walked calmly to one of several knives lined up on the floor and picked one up. It was small, but looked crueler and sharper than the rest. The blade caught the light in a somewhat beautiful white flash as Paint returned to False. The smaller wolf flailed about, steam rising off her body at a much higher rate that before.

With the sudden speed of a striking snake, Paint plunged the knife deep into False’s stomach and in that same motion, she swept the blade up towards the bottom of False’s ribcage. Greyish red intestines and other internal organs immediately oozed out of the gash along with bright, fresh blood. False kicked viciously, horrible sounds similar to those made by a dying sheep rising from her throat.

Dragon screamed, witnessing it all very clearly. “STOP!!! STOP PLEASE!!!!

The avian ignored her and drove the paw not holding a knife into the cut. She seized up a tangle of guts and tugged, effectively pulling out most of False’s insides. Scarlet liquid splattered the ground. Paint growled, seeing that some of the intestines were still stuck inside, and promptly forced her head into the cavity. Dragon soon realized that the winged wolf was eating, no, devouring False’s organs from both the still living body and the floor.

The sapphire wolf felt herself urinate in fear. Every inch of sweaty fur on her body was bristling. “STOP IT, YOU BITCH!!! STOP IT!!! SHE DOESN’T DESERVE IT!!!” She continued to screech, tears streaming from her face, until Paint seemed to have had enough with her shouting.

The avian’s ears swiveled in her direction, huge head soon following. Paint’s teeth were stained red, blood dripping from her chin. She was still smiling, and the grin was gruesome. She approached Dragon with a bit of intestine in one paw. The other paw shot out, grabbed Dragon’s muzzle, and forced her jaws open.

Don’t watch!

Paint shoved the guts into Dragon’s mouth and then held her jaws closed with a firm grip. The taste of blood soaked her tongue, the liquid dripping down her throat. It was warm and sticky. As she tried to kick and pull away, the avian giggled before leaning in and snarling, “Shut the fuck up you little bitch.” Paint let go and returned back to her other victim, whose struggling was weakening. Dragon spat out the intestines, felt vomit rise in her throat, and threw up whatever was in her stomach (It wasn’t much). The vomit stuck to the fur on her chest and drizzled onto one of her hind legs. She moaned and vomited a little more before lifting her head.

The winged wolf had picked up a smaller knife, leaving the old one on the ground. This new blade was embedded in the edge of False’s left eye socket. Paint was moving the weapon slowly around the eyeball, causing blood to drip down that orange face like red tears. The smaller wolf was wriggling, steaming and kicking weakly, but Paint didn’t seem to feel the blows in her side. With a small flick of the knife, False’s green eye popped out of her skull and dangled limp on the few attached nerves. Dragon simply continued to weep.

Suddenly, False’s steam stopped and the fire started. Red flames rose up from her binding in a flash, incinerating the rope around the smaller wolf in an instant. Dragon gasped as False screamed with whatever remaining energy she had left and pounced upon the avian, wrapping her fiery paws around Paint’s throat. Paint yelped, feeling the paws scald her neck.

But just as Dragon thought they had won for sure, the ultramarine wolf threw False to the dirt with little effort. “I HAD TO WASTE WATER TO RESTRAIN YOU AND WHAT DO YOU DO?! YOU BURN IT ALLLLLL AWAY, GODDAMMIT!!!” Paint angled the blade and began cutting through False’s skin, peeling it back from the pinkish red muscle. False’s remaining eye, full of pain, stared deep into Dragon’s own. The little wolf’s breathing was shallow, and it was obvious she was going to die soon. But somehow, a single tear fell from her eye as her jaw moved, almost like she was trying to call for help.

However, a cannon fired at last and False’s gaze went blank.

Dragon slumped, tears continuing to run down her face. She sobbed weakly as Paint continued skinning False’s dead body. Her chest hurt about as much as her head seemed to. The woodland wolf closed her eyes, trying to calm herself (it was unsuccessful) before asking for the second time, “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

Paint stopped working on obtaining the fur and turned towards her former ally. The avian’s entire front half was covered in blood. Even her wing had a few splatters. The monstrous grin was replaced with a sly smile. “Do you really wanna know?”

“... Y-yes.”

The avian approached her slowly, stopping and sitting down directly in front of her. The knife was still in her paw. “I’m gonna use you to hunt for the last tribute besides ourselves, who is Apple from District 11. I know who the other tribute is because I watch the death recaps every night. Well anyway, I saw you hesitate when you entered my territory. You’re a tracker of some sort.” She paused, thinking. “You’re like a… Like a hunting dog. I want to treat you like a hunting dog.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m first gonna do some small adjustments to you. I’m first chopping off most of your tail. Then I’m going to sew your ears down with a sewing kit I got from a tribute so they look floppy,” Paint said. Dragon noticed the avian was moving in even closer to her body. “Finally,” Paint muttered, now standing over Dragon. She traced her paw softly down the woodland wolf’s stomach. Dragon flinched and tried to pull away, extremely uncomfortable. Paint giggled a little. “... I’m gonna spay you like the bitch you are.”

“Uhhhmm… Y-yeah you can’t pull that off.” Dragon was shaking. She was still crying, but she tried her best to sound strong when she said, “Get off me, please. I am literally covered in vomit and pee.”

Paint stood her ground, paying no mind to that last comment. “I can totally spay you. It can’t be that hard. In fact, I’m doing it tomorrow.” The winged wolf drew her face in closer to Dragon’s. The pale blue wolf could smell and feel Paint’s warm breath in her fur when she whispered, “In the meantime…”

Their noses touched.

Dragon shouted, completely disgusted and violated. She opened her mouth and bit down hard on Paint’s muzzle. The avian yelped and slashed her knife across Dragon’s chest, leaving a long horizontal gash and splattering a bit of blood on the floor. Dragon let go immediately and watched as Paint stumbled backward, clutching her injured snout. It was bleeding a bit, but not by much. The winged wolf looked up at Dragon, grin back on her face.

“You know what, pal?” Paint growled, picking up machete off the ground and dropping the other knife. “I think we should start a little early on your hound dog transformation.”

“No. No please,” Dragon begged. She flailed in the ropes, feeling them cut into her forepaws. Paint walked towards her. “NO!!! NO!!! YOU ST-STAY AWAY!!! FUCK!!! NO, PLEASE!!!”

The avian snatched up Dragon’s tail, pulling it out to the side. She raised the weapon in the other paw.

“STOP!!!”

Paint swung the blade down and the sapphire tail was severed in a single chop. Agony erupted in Dragon’s behind and traveled up her spine. Lightheadedness overtook her brain.

Dragon quickly passed out.

---

When Dragon first heard the buzzing, she thought it was just her head.

She awoke immediately and scanned her surroundings. A shadowy lump Dragon assumed was Paint slept peacefully in a corner. The smell of Dragon’s own piss, blood, and vomit choked the air, instantly making her want to pass out again. She would’ve killed for some fresh air. She quickly located the true source of the buzzing: A small, black colored drone.

It seemed to notice Dragon was awake, so it lowered itself near to the ground about a yard out from where she was bound. It hesitated there, hovering, until it carefully and quietly dropped a black container onto the floor with robotic grace. It delivered a sponsor! So that’s how sponsors were delivered in the tunnels!  The drone made a single beep before zooming away with a tremendous buzz of propellers. Dragon cringed at this, as the noise both hurt her head and could’ve been loud enough to wake Paint. But the avian didn’t stir.

“Thank you!” Dragon whispered to the air. “Thank you for saving me.” For a brief moment she felt tears well in her eyes but she forced them back down. There was no time for crying.

Now how will she reach the sponsor? She took a deep breath and tested the ropes holding her paws. Nope. Still tight. The only way she could reach the container was by stretching out and pulling it towards her with her hind legs and paws.

She extended a leg and immediately felt a jolt of pain shoot through the bloody stump of her nonexistent tail to the top of her spine. She cried out and pulled back. She glanced back over to Paint. She was still sleeping. Dragon turned back to the container again. She didn’t even come close to reaching it. She tried again, experiencing that same stab of agony, but this time she brushed the container with one paw and managed to bring it closer. She rested for a moment before stretching out one last time. She grabbed the container between her paws and slid it towards herself, wincing when she sat up straight to analyze the container. At last, she flipped it up to her chest (It took her about two attempts). Dragon twisted the top off awkwardly with her mouth. She must’ve looked ridiculous (Go ahead, let the Capitol laugh) but she opened her sponsor successfully.

A small and shiny razor blade sat at the bottom of the container.

Dragon wasted no time and snatched it up, holding it carefully in her mouth and between her teeth. She then craned her neck out and began slicing through the rope. The sound of splitting fibers filled her with hope.

The rope fell with a thunk to the floor.

Dragon stood, shakily and in pain of course, but she still stood. Without a glance back she bolted…

… Straight into a wall.

Dragon yelped and fell backwards onto her injured behind, clattering several metal objects she couldn’t identify in the dark. She froze on the floor, staring fearfully at Paint. The avian stirred, lifted her head sleepily, then turned her face towards Dragon. The woodland wolf’s heart thudded. Paint’s eyes immediately narrowed behind her brown goggles (Did she wear them to sleep this time??) and a grin slowly widened on her face. “I give you three seconds to run. Go.”

Dragon took no chances and sprinted out the entryway. She had to escape the tunnels and get outside. Her stump of a tail caused her to stumble once, but she righted herself immediately. The world behind her blurred away as she rounded corner after corner. She desperately sniffed the air for any odors of the outside, but she found nothing. Just blindly fleeing a deadly force.

She descended into panic when she heard Paint pursuing her clumsily. The avian was closing in on her target, but her pawsteps sounded uneven and awkward. Running without one of two wings must really throw off your balance. Dragon flinched when she heard Paint crash into a wall as they rounded a corner.

Light suddenly grew brighter in the tunnels and!! There it was! The log bridge! Dragon had found the exit! She was fre-

Paint slammed into Dragon with the force of a freight train and the pair fell to the ground together. The avian rolled on top of her, hitting Dragon’s head on the ground. Pain filled her skull and a dazed sensation threatened to pull her into unconsciousness. Paint’s paws were immediately at Dragon’s throat, choking her. The woodland wolf clawed at the paws around her neck, struggling. A flurry of falling feathers surrounded the pair as Paint’s remaining wing flapped madly and with little purpose.

“Where were you going? WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU GOING???” Paint screeched, continuing to suffocate the squirming Dragon. The avian’s maniac grin remained constant. “You have nowhere to go, no chance of survival. You and I both know that, now don’t we?”

Dragon felt all of her energy seep away and she dropped one of her paws from her attempt at clawing away Paint. But as she did, she touched something smooth and cool.

Her razor blade!

Dragon wasted no time grabbing the the blade. She quickly sliced wildly at Paint’s paws and when Paint let go with a yelp, Dragon swung the razor in a wide arc at the avian’s neck.

It struck.

The avian screamed and stumbled backwards Dragon saw immediately that the narrow scratch across Paint’s neck wasn’t at all life threatening. Paint was still alive. Damnit.

Dragon leapt for the log bridge but a paw struck her from the air and the woodland wolf fell down…

Down…

      Down…

             Down into the ravine.

She landed with a sickening crunch on the ground as her ribs and a leg snapped on impact. Agony ripped at her side and she screamed at the sky. Tears streamed down her face. Above her, Paint balanced precariously on the log, seeming ready to fall down herself, but the avian managed to back up into the tunnels. A few feathers drifted lazily down as she peered over the edge, eyes squinting behind her goggles.

Paint laughed and spat at Dragon, who did nothing to avoid the saliva. “BITCH!!! Look at what you’ve done!” A wave of giggling took over mid sentence as Paint rubbed at the cut on her throat. Her paws were bleeding quite a bit. “I’m hurt and now you’re gonna die down there you little shit!” Dragon felt lightheaded; the pain was too much and she was going to pass out soon. Paint flicked her own blood at the woodland wolf down below before muttering, “I hope you still have that razor. Or else it’ll be a slooowww death for you.”

Dragon drifted from consciousness as Paint turned and disappeared.

---

The sunlight barely breached the ravine but during midday, the sun scorched the broken land all the way to the floor of the crevasse. Dragon awoke around this time.

Flies buzzed about and landed upon her body, rubbing their greasy little insect legs together as if scheming her demise. She made no attempts to swat them away. Her body hurt too much and she was running out of hope. She was starving as well, but there was nothing to eat except a half dead berry bush that had obviously fallen in during the quake. However, the berries looked suspicious as well and Dragon had almost no strength left to drag herself to sustenance.

Numbing, horrible agony stabbed her swollen left foreleg and her crushed side. She knew that climbing out of the ravine was not an option, despite the fact that Dragon was actually on a ledge that hung over the actual bottom of the ravine. If she had fallen any farther, she would’ve been dead.

She wished she was dead.

Dragon’s razor sat passively in her right paw. It had cut her paw pads badly during her fall but in comparison to her other injuries, that meant nothing. She stared at it, remembering what Paint said before she left. Suicide did seem like the only option. Even if she did manage to claw her way out, Paint would most likely resume tearing her apart perhaps even slower than as she did with False. She was hopeless. She might as well just slit her own throat or bleed herself out somehow.

Suicide was the only option, but she wasn’t going to kill herself like that.

The berry bush caught her eye again. She lifted her injured head to look at it closer. The berries were reddish orange in color, with a blue seed visible through its transparent skin. It was obviously manufactured by the Capitol, so it was obviously poisonous. Dragon sniffed the air. The bush smelled… Spicy. Peppery, in a way.

Yep. Definitely deadly.

If she could just reach them… No she had to consider what was to happen after she died. If she ended her life, there would only be two tributes left in the games: Paint and Apple. Was her name Apple? Apple was another wolf, right? She couldn’t remember since that other tribute, clearly an unseen variable, had never been spotted by Dragon at all during the duration of the games. Whoever Apple was, she was an excellent hider. But would she have the strength to defeat Paint? She really hoped so. She definitely didn’t want the avian to win. The Capitol couldn’t let Paint win anyway; Paint was insane! Perhaps the Gamemakers saw all of this coming and planned for it all along. Maybe they had protected Apple for so long, just for Apple to be a “protagonist” versus Paint’s “antagonistic” ways. A story fit for the entertainment of the Capitol.

If she committed suicide, would her family be disappointed? Would her district be disappointed? Oh well, that wouldn’t be a problem if she was dead.

Who was she kidding. She didn’t have a choice.

She had to die.

She took a weak, shaky, and painful breath. First, she attempted standing on three limbs, holding her broken leg in the air. But this immediately proved to be unsuccessful. She cried out in agony as her entire ribcage seemed to fill with pain. Dragon quickly settled on simply dragging herself (Drag on, Dragon)  towards the berries, using her functioning legs to push herself forward. Every slight bump she hit made her wince, but at last she made it to the poisoned berry bush.

She forced herself to raise her head to the level of a small clump of of berries. Without another moment’s hesitation, she opened her mouth and ate them straight off the plant. They popped between her teeth, releasing bizarre, peppery juices onto her tongue. The flavor wasn’t too strong, therefore making the taste in no way unpleasant.

Just as she was about to eat a few more, a burning sensation struck her throat. It started out as pleasantly warm, but soon escalated into a painful scalding. She screamed clawed at the neck. It felt as if she was breathing fire.

Haha. Get it? Because she’s Dragon?

Hilarious.

Soon, her entire body burned, causing her to flail about in agony. She imagined the Gamemakers’ cameras aimed towards her, documenting her final struggle. But this brief imagining was cut off by a sudden, sharp pain in her chest. Her heart stopped.

The cannon fired.

Her still-twitching body was picked up by a hovercraft.

---

At about a few moments before Dragon died, Paint was relaxing peacefully in back her cave while bundled up in a fairly warm and fuzzy blanket. Killing took a lot of energy, so it was crucial for her to take a break in between slaughtering tributes.

She had a small notebook in front of her (She had brought it with her into the arena along with a few pencils), in which she drew a few sketches of Bastion under the light of an electric lantern with difficulty. Both of her paws were covered in what was left of the same roll of bandages used to wrap up her side after she amputated her wing. The avian was careful to wrap each finger (are they called fingers??) individually, so she could still have mobility in her paws when needed. However, that didn’t stop her paws from hurting. And fuck, they hurt pretty bad.

If only she had kept a hold of Dragon. Paint could’ve done so much to that bitch. She could’ve used that fancy box of matches one of her previous victims had (One benefit of murder was that one could get all sorts of free stuff after, and Paint loved free stuff.) and burned the woodland wolf to death in a bonfire. It probably would’ve smelled excellent, like cooking a pig. Or perhaps she could’ve done the burning bit a little slower, skinning Dragon alive at first (wouldn’t want to burn all of that beautiful fur) and then roasting some good wolf flesh.

A pleasant little shiver went down Paint’s spine, making her remaining wing ruffle a bit.

She would’ve loved killing Dragon.

She quickly forced those violent thoughts out of her head and continued drawing another Bastion. However, just as she was about to finish this one, a cannon fired and caused her to jump. When she flinched, her paw slipped and a long, dark pencil line was slashed across her paper. She grumbled to herself angrily and prepared to erase the mark, but then she stopped.

That cannon had to have meant Dragon was dead.

Paint closed the notebook and stood up, grinning. “It’s about time,” she muttered, raising one paw to rub the scratch in her neck. The injury wasn’t much in comparison to the cuts in her paws, but it stung every time she moved her head. Did the cannon mean Apple and Paint were the last ones in the arena? Who even was Apple? A wolf? Before the Hunger Games and during training, the avian had made an effort to memorize the names and districts of every tribute in both states of mind: Paint #1 and #2. However, since she had been so entirely focused on memorization, she couldn’t remember half of the faces that went with the names! Perhaps Paint #1 remembered, but Paint #2 didn’t exactly feel like leaving quite yet.

She turned off the lantern, leaving the room in darkness. She blinked her eyes behind her goggles to adjust her eyes to the light then left the cave with all of her stuff in it, ready to hunt for Apple. It was unlikely this late in the games for her stuff to be stolen. Besides, the stench of the cave caused by the four rotting bodies piled up in the corner (For some reason, body retrieval was nonexistent underground) alone was enough to keep anyone away.

Limping slowly through the tunnels, Paint thought about the other remaining tribute. Whoever Apple was, the avian had no worries about defeating her. Every tribute Paint had encountered she killed without too much trouble. Sure, occasionally they fought back and hurt her somewhat, but that was natural.

No one wanted to die in agony.

---

After hours of hunting for Apple with no success, Paint made her way towards the exit of the tunnels. She estimated that it was nearly night time, and the anthem would be playing soon. The avian wanted to watch the death recap and see proof of Dragon’s death. She wanted to see the district number of her deceased enemy. She wanted to see Dragon’s picture projected in the sky. Only then would Paint be satisfied.

The avian soon found the exit, illuminated by silvery moonlight. She stepped slowly towards the cliff and plopping down near the edge. Paint wouldn’t dare to attempt crossing the cedar log bridge. Without her other wing, she simply was too unbalanced and would likely fall down into the ravine. So instead, she settled on craning her head out over the ledge to stare at the stars.

The sky remained blank and starry until the anthem began to blare proudly in the arena. The Capitol’s seal appeared in all its projected blue glory, before fading into an image of Dragon, labeled boldly with “District 7.” This image stuck around for quite some time before the music gave one final flourish and faded out along with the image. The sounds of the night reentered the arena and Paint stood up, turned, and walked back into the darkness of the caverns with a grin.

That was that. Dragon was dead.

As she marched through the tunnels, Paint felt tempted to continue her search for Apple, but she knew that it was best to return to her cave. She was horribly exhausted and needed to sleep. Gotta rest up before she won the games. Tomorrow was going to be a great day for sure.

Turning one final corner, she finally reached the last tunnel that led right up to her cave. However, she froze. A massive reddish pink colored and female wolf (somewhat taller than Bastion was) stood several meters in front of Paint, effectively blocking her way back into her cave. Her giant head was lowered and her hackles were raised, making her body seem even larger. Her enormous paws held no weapon, but they seemed perfectly capable of crushing the avian without one.

The wolf was Apple and she looked pissed.

“You,” the District 11 tribute growled, taking an angry step towards Paint. The avian stood her ground, but she was shaking slightly. Apple barked and Paint flinched with a small yelp. “You’re crazy! I saw their bodies,YOU PSYCHO!!!” Apple took another step forward and this time Paint moved back a little. “You hurt them bad. Entire pieces of them were MISSING!!!”

The avian chuckled nervously and tried her best to put on a friendly grin. The end result wasn’t great; it was too awkward and desperate. “You don’t want to kill me r-right? C-Come on now? Who’s the real enemy here? You hate the Capitol, correct? I hate them too!” Paint nodded her head towards the end of the tunnel before saying, “Just let me walk pas-”

“NO!!!” interrupted Apple. The giant wolf advanced towards Paint at a brisk pace. “You deserve to DIE!!! I have killed NO ONE yet and you have SLAUGHTERED others like… like…”

Paint grinned genuinely this time. “Like pigs?”

Apple roared and launched herself at the avian. Paint lept to the side as the enemy wolf’s weight crashed down on the ground just next to her. When Apple rose back up, the avian bared her teeth and pounced at her throat. However, a red paw struck her in the side of her head, knocking her to the dirt like how a cat would strike a toy. Paint went flat on the ground, found herself at a perfect height to tear into Apple’s soft belly, and attacked with her jaws wide open.

Her teeth sank into warm flesh but that flesh belonged to her enemy’s foreleg, not her stomach. Hot blood seeped into her mouth, tongue tasting its metallic flavor. Apple screamed and used her free paw to smack Paint’s head and muzzle. The winged wolf’s tight grip loosened slightly, allowing Apple to loop her free foreleg under the avian’s chest and lift Paint off the ground. Then Apple threw Paint down the tunnel.

The avian’s remaining wing fluttered lamely as she tumbled through the air and onto the floor with a crash. She landed on her wingless side, horrible agony erupting in the amputated region, making her cry out and her eyes water. Paint snarled savagely and lurched to her paws with extreme difficulty before leaping on top of Apple’s back. The avian bit her in the back of the neck and shook her head vigorously, tearing through Apple’s skin.

Apple screeched, rolling over on her back and crushing Paint beneath her. A bone in Paint’s remaining wing snapped like a twig, making her scream in agony. She struggled and managed to push Apple off just enough for her to wriggle free. The avian leapt for the empty tunnel, but powerful jaws latched onto her wing. The winged wolf cried out as they tugged her from the air, slamming her to the ground and rolling her on her back.

Apple situated herself as if she was about to give Paint some form of CPR, huge red chest and forelegs raised a foot or two above Paint’s ribcage. Then, with the force and power of a hungry bear opening a metal trashcan, Apple brought all of her weight down on the avian using her forepaws. With a hollow but crunchy WHUMP!!!, Paint’s chest was crushed. The avian screeched, not yet dead, and attempted to wriggle away. But the paws came down again, again, and again.

WHUMP!!!

WHUMP!!!

WHUMP!!!

BAM!!!

-- The final cannon fired.

The last tribute standing stepped away (Breathing quite hard) and surveyed the dead body of Paint. Broken rib bones poked out from underneath the bandages wrapped around the avian’s smashed chest, breaking her skin. Blood, still warm, saturated the gauze. The same scarlet liquid oozed from her mouth, resembling chunky red vomit. Paint probably did vomit as she was dying.

Apple carefully walked around the wolf, avoiding the horrible blank gaze of the avian’s dead eyes. She made her way towards the exit of the tunnels.

Apple was the victor.

THE END

March 31, 2017

Posted by Dragon :) Feel free to ask questions!