CHAPTER TEN
THE FIGHT OF HER LIFE

two years prior, day one of the hunger games

Arella didn't even have time to collect her thoughts the following morning before she was being shipped off to the arena. Loaded onto some special hovercraft and injected with a tracker that made her wince, it is all getting too real now. She didn't miss the smug little smirk that Remi had thrown her way either, obviously more than excited at the fact they'll be able to fight for real now.

The brunette didn't even get to see Malcolm, the young boy in a completely separate aircraft with the rest of the boys. She hopes he's okay, that he will be able to find his way to her in that arena. Arella doesn't even know how to describe the ache in her chest at the thought of that boy dying.

Her stylist is finishing up her outfit, zipping up Arella's thick coat and smiling slightly at her. The tribute doesn't know what to say, what to do, this could be her final moments alive and she's spending it with somebody who is happy to watch her go. She wishes Mirabelle was here to reassure her, hug her tightly, but she's not and Arella will have to stumble around on her own two feet.

"30 seconds,"

The automated voice echoes around the room, sending a chill up the entirety of her spine. Arella's limbs are involuntarily trembling, her heart racing and her breathing shallow, a severe state of anxiety settling in.

The stylist, whose name Arella didn't even bother to remember, gently guides her towards the tube. The brunette doesn't even give the other woman a second glance, allowing the tube to close behind her. The journey upwards feels like an eternity, this is it. This is where she dies.

Light begins to peak in, albeit only a minimal amount, and Arella knows she's almost there. The world slows down astronomically in those last few seconds and then she's exposed to her nightmare. It takes her eyes a couple of seconds to adjust, the few moments in darkness completely throwing her sight out of whack. Before she's even fully acclimatized, Arella feels the gentle brush of snow against her skin, an experience she's never got to have first hand.

As her vision clears, a shuttered breath leaves her lips. The air is so cold that she can see her breath with every exhale, the surrounding area smothered in blankets of thick snow. Many of the items on the ground around the Cornucopia are already being buried by the snow which means the fight for the weapons and backpacks are going to be even harsher this time around.

Arella allows her eyes to wander, desperately trying to seek out Malcolm who she eventually finds on the other side of the ring of tributes. To her dismay, and slight fear, Remi is situated to the boy's left. She hopes they he manages to get away before the girl gets her hands on any sort of weapon, Arella can't protect him from all the way over here — not when she likely will have to fight for a weapon herself.

On either side of her are the girl from District Three and the boy from Ten, both of which are allowing their eyes to dart around anxiously. Arella doesn't think either of them will really be much of a threat, physically she's taller than both of them, the boy from Ten might have her covered for strength though.

The countdown above the cornucopia, whilst slight obstructed by the falling snow, reads that they have about twenty seconds before the Games kick off. Arella pushes forward lightly so that she'll be able to fly off the pedestal when required, the snow likely a factor that will slow down her naturally fast run.

With each passing second, Arella can feel her heart pounding louder in her ears and her mind racing. All the possibilities are running through her head, the thoughts of self doubt and fear, thoughts that she has to push away if she wants to make her way through the initial bloodbath.

An automated voice begins counting down from ten, taunting Arella with its elongated speaking and lack of tone. It's symbolic of those in the Capitol, uncaring about what happens to them after the clock strikes zero.

3.

Arella's breathing begins to become more erratic.

2.

She can barely hear anything but the sound of her own heartbeat.

1.

Here we go.

Arella launches herself off the pedestal and rushes straight towards one of the backpacks near her. She scoops it up and runs as quickly as she can in such thick snow, eyes desperately searching for Malcolm who she thankfully sees rushing off into the wooded area, nothing with him.

A hand grabs onto her shoulder and she spins, slamming her elbow straight into their face. The girl screeches after her nose cracks, not prepared for when Arella then kicks her body away moments later. The brunette isn't going to kill her, she doesn't need to. Instead, she digs through the snow for any sort of weapon that she'll be able to use to defend both herself and Malcolm. Most of the better weapons are in the mouth of the Cornucopia, so Arella only manages to pick up a few knives.

The girl whom she had kicked is now back on her feet, lunging at her and taking her to the floor. The blonde is significantly smaller than her, no real strength either, so Arella overpowers her awfully quick. Throwing her away with as much force as she can manage, Arella scrambles to grab her things before running in the direction Malcolm had disappeared to minutes earlier — now the holder of only one knife instead of multiple.

She can hear pained screeches, the cries of wounded children who will likely be dead in a matter of seconds. It's a horrifying reality, one that could be bestowed upon her if she doesn't get a move on.

There are a few fresh prints in the snow, the person diverting off to the left. It's only one set of footprints, Arella hopes that they belong to Malcolm and not somebody else who took off at the beginning. They seem much too small to be any of the careers, all of them a fair bit bigger than Malcolm, but there are plenty of other kids who are similar to him.

"Malcolm?" Arella calls his name out quietly, visiting the backpack higher on her shoulder and keeping a tight grip on the knife she'd managed to grab. The screams are still echoing in the distance, significantly less so than before as most have probably already passed. "Mal?"

There doesn't seem to be many places for him to hide, tall trees to both her left and right. It's likely that the young boy has found a small bush or something to keep himself safe, huddling up in the greenery to avoid being seen.

She continues to follow the prints in the snow, coming to a halt when she spots what looks like a small cabin hidden away in the trees. Without even thinking it through, Arella rushes towards it with renewed hope blossoming in her chest. This would be the perfect place to go just to regroup, even if they have to move on before nightfall.

The girl gently pushes the door open, the wood creaking as Arella steps inside. It's hard to tell if anybody is here, or has been here, no signs of life at all. However, Malcolm had told her once that he was pretty good at hiding away — she just has to trust she's come the right way.

"Malcolm?" Arella repeats his name a few times, trying to coax him out of the hiding spot he may be in. It takes a few moments but she eventually hears movement and his head pops up out of one of the crates in the corner.

A relieved smile pulls at her lips as he scrambles out of the box and practically throws himself at her. Arella catches him and allows him to embrace her tightly, Malcolm obviously in need of some form of comfort. Pulling back slightly, she surveys his face to see that he's injury free, the redness on the tip of his nose from the cold rather than a weapon.

"I could hear the screams, I thought—" Malcolm's words come out a jumbled mess, the amount fear in his tone something that no child his age should have.

"I'm okay, I promise. I managed to get away without having to put up much of a fight," Arella assures, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Have you searched the cabin?"

Malcolm shakes his head. "I was scared that somebody might find me. I'm sorry,"

"Don't be sorry, we'll look now. It's okay to be scared Malcolm, I am too,"

Malcolm looks at her for a few moments and nods his head, walking back over to where he'd been hiding. He digs around in the box and pulls out the bear that he'd shown her to other day, putting a smile on Arella's face. Arella pulls the bag off her shoulder and opens it up, allowing the boy to put the stuffed animal inside to keep it safe. If it's something that can keep him happy and somewhat calm, as much as he can he anyway, she's happy to carry it around in her bag for him.

"Alright, let's check out all the cupboards, drawers and boxes. I'm sure there is some stuff hiding away in there somewhere," Arella instructs, the duo parting ways to search different sections of the cabin.

Arella manages to fish out some canned food, not much but enough to keep them going for a little bit. Malcolm finds some blankets hidden away in the back of the cupboards as well as some scarves and gloves. Clearly they'd come to the right place, some valuable resources available to them.

As she's shoving some cans in her bag, the familiar sound of the cannon booms through the air. The sound is repeated a total of ten times, meaning ten of the tributes have already fallen. That's a fairly large number in comparison to the previous years, last year she remembers only six were lost during the initial bloodbath.

Tucking a piece of her loose hair behind her ear, Arella stares out the cracked window by the busted sink. She can hardly see anything out there, the snow falling heavier than it had been previously. She has a feeling they will lose several tributes to the cold in here, their bodies unable to withstand the wild conditions.

"I don't think there is anything else here," Malcolm's voice is quiet due to his distance but Arella hears him all the same.

"I think we should stay here tonight, there's too much snow for us to move out," Arella comments softly, looking over her shoulder at the younger boy who nods in agreement. "We can try and start a fire of sorts, they probably won't be able to see the smoke through all this,"

The fire place sits in the corner of the room, stoked with wooden logs. Clearly the Gamemakers had expected somebody to take up residence here and had decided to provide them with some help.

Arella digs through the bag and sighs in relief when she spots a box of matches. Throwing them over to Malcolm, she leaves him in charge of starting up the fire whilst she finishes packing away the rest of the food. It's going to be a heavy thing to carry but it'll be worth it, at least they won't starve in here.

It takes Malcolm a little bit of time to get the fire up and running, Arella pitching in to help as well, but eventually they have some source of warmth to accompany the blankets.

"You should get some sleep," Arella speaks, wrapping a blanket around herself tightly. She can already see his eyes struggling to stay open, his body downright exhausted after the day he's had. "I'll take first watch,"

Malcolm doesn't even bother arguing, slipping away into unconsciousness rather quickly. His face smooths out and Arella has to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes — he's so young. Her mind still hasn't shifted from her previous thoughts of his survival, she'd rather die than have to watch him go. Having to face his family back home in District Five, watching them mourn over a child who shouldn't be here in the first place.

Leaning back against the wall, Arella holds the blanket tighter and watches the snow out the window. Each flake unique in its own way and yet much too small for anybody to really notice, Arella can only imagine how beautiful they would be up close — a design so delicately crafted that it differed to all of its neighbours.

Arella thinks she could love this kind of weather if she'd had it back home but in here it pulls her so far from her comfort zone, forces her to face it head on rather. She has never been too great with the cold, her body often reduced to a shivering mess.

Etching herself closer to the fire, Arella allows the warmth to settle over her like a safety blanket and hide her away from the evil of the cold. This is what she can have, small victories, because she has no intention of winning the big one at all — she simply just doesn't.