The Square [Timtab]

[Sheena]

It was dark by the time Eyal finished working, like it always was. His muscles were aching and his clothes soaked through in sweat. The sun had not been friendly and there was little shade offered by the trees being cut down at the edge of the vast forest. To make matters worse, the air had been heavy and humid; it sometimes felt hard to breath. The temperature was unseasonably high, but the night offered some relief. The air was still mildly humid, but the heat of the sun was no more.

Eyal wore gloves while he worked if he was lucky to get a pair before they were gone. This was one of those days and he now freed his hands from their sweaty prison. He figured he must smell as bad as the other men around him, but then it wasn't necessarily a worry that anyone within the district particularly had. Their minds were primarily focused on their hunger, and, oh, was Eyal hungry. The amount of work that they were expected to do with the amount of food available to them was ridiculous, but Eyal rarely complained. If he did, it was usually in the form of a joke anyway. Luckily, food only had to be split between his dad and himself, so he never starved like some others within the district were known to do.

He was unsure if his dad had left for home or not yet. Eyal knew there would be half a sirloin and a plain bun waiting for him when he got home though, in any case. The strained silence that always occurred between the two when they were alone was often too much to bear, so Eyal often took his time getting home, regardless of his hunger. This night was no exception and Eyal took the 'scenic' route. Instead of following the majority of other men, he took a walk through the square.

At this time of night, most people were in their homes, exhausted, hungry, and ready for sleep to rest for the same thing on the following day. Fatigue was a permanent part of Eyal's life, so a little sleep deprivation didn't mean much. The district square was empty for the most part, though a few people still remained. Most were walking at a fast pace, with a purpose, but some, like Eyal, seemed to mosey. Some, aimlessly.

The middle of the district held a fountain. At one point, it must have been beautiful with water flowing constantly. There was no water in it anymore. Eyal walked to the fountain and sat on its edge, sighing heavily. It was good to sit after spending hours on his feet cutting trees ad hauling logs. He closed his eyes.

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

I whip sweat of my forehead with the backside of my hand as I walk down one of District 7's many side roads. The sun was not friendly today. Even in the shade of the trees, I had been able to feel it's heat on my black hair, and in broad daylight, I'm sure I could have cooked eggs on a rock. Many of the streams had run dry, and a couple of the trees were beginning to whither. When would it ever rain again? I hoped it was sometime soon. Without the rain, it was much harder to chop down the trees, and impossible for us to grow new ones. I find that rain softens the tree bark, and it's common knowledge that nothing can grow without the precious liquid. 

I know that chopping down the trees is more often the men's work, but father started to take me there at a very young age. When Samuel died. I clench my hands into fists, the crack of the tree falling, the horrid scream of a child, the ugly thud as the trunk met the ground, and my brother. I bite my lip and try to stop the tears from flowing, but they come anyway, sparkling in the setting sun. Stop it, Sorrel. Your being ridiculous. Crying doesn't fill empty stomachs. If only it did. I've been doing a lot of crying ever since Samuel died. In the first year after it happened, I didn't understand what was going on. I believed he had just gone somewhere else, away from home. Now I could comprehend what had happened.

He's dead. Your never going to see him again. I kick a nearby pebble, willing myself to stop thinking about it, but I can't rid myself of the fact the I'll never see my dear little brother again. I only have Mace, who's older then me. Suddenly I'm glad I thought of his name, because I begin to think about him instead of Samuel. I wonder where he is now? I can imagine he's on his way home, following the main flow of carpenters and masons. Dad will probably be with him, too. They'll stop at the market, buy a meal, and then head home. I know because I used to take that route with him. Then I discovered I liked the side roads much better, because they were quiet and less crowded. I look up to see that I have arrived at the square, where I often go before I head home.

Suddenly I stop, rigid, the sun making me look like a silhouette. There's a boy, I think he's seventeen or eighteen, sitting on the ledge of the fountain. Where I usually sit, and where I put my carving tools. I look up at where water used to come out, at the top, praying he won't see the glinting tools. In this light, it's not hard to tell that they're there. I cross my fingers, trying to decide what to do. Should I get my car in tools anyway? Try to sneak them? Maybe just leave and get them later? My head is starting to hurt from all the thinking. I groan softly, deciding to just sit and wait him out.

I walk into the square, actually hoping he doesn't see me, then sit down on a large rock several meters away. I pull my black hair over one shoulder, keeping it out of my eyes, then reach into one pocket. I search around for a minute, then my hand grasps what I'm looking for. I pull it out. Actually, I pull two things out. A small piece of oak wood, and a blunt carving tool. My eyes glance one more time up at the fountain, at the boy, and back to my carving tool. It's not a very good one, but it will have to do for now. I start on the little block of wood, chiseling and scraping away. What I'm making I don't know yet. My carvings have a habit of forming themselves. But as I work, one thought buzzes around in my mind.Wait him out.

[Sheena]

He opened his eyes, pale green in the light and black as the sky in the dark. It had felt like hours had passed while Eyal rested, when it had only been a few minutes. Now that the tension had been released from his back and arms, he was able to feel his surroundings better. The air was indeed cooler. His clothes, once soaked in sweat, were drying now but were still damp, making him a little cold as a light breeze blew through the square. Luckily, his own smell did not overpower the sweet scent of grass and trees and flowers. Unless I smell awful all of the time. I'm probably just immune to it.

It was silent in the square. Eyal could hear the leaves rustle as the breeze blew through the trees. He could hear the hurried breath of any stragglers rushing by. Other than that, he had heard nothing. And then, for a moment, it was silent. The sky was black, but the moon was rising bright, although it would only be a half-moon tonight. What was the technical term? First Quarter? Maybe it was at the Third Quarter though. He remembered learning briefly about the moon's phases when he was younger, but that was another time and Eyal's memory was not particularly reliable beyond his work nowadays.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps. The sound that interrupted the expected silence caused Eyal's heart to jump, but he remained still. He looked around the square. Any people who had been wandering aimlessly when Eyal had arrived, had now gone home or continued their wandering elsewhere. The square was empty now. Except now he saw the source of the steps. He would have missed them if the wind had been stronger. They had stopped while he had searched, but the only person remaining in the district, aside from himself, was the shadow of another, sitting on a large rock several metres away from wear Eyal sat on the fountain. The light of the moon was still behind the trees, so he couldn't be sure, but the silhouette seemed to belong to a girl, maybe young, maybe an older woman. His eyes were unable to tell him much.

Whoever she was, she seemd to be looking his way until her hands began moving rhythmically, working. Eyal was very interested in what she was doing. He all but forgot his hunger and started trying to guess what it was that kept her hands so busy. What did girls do? He remembered one girl filing down her nails in class when he still attended school frequently. Could she be doing that? He smiled. Maybe it's the same girl. He chuckled softly. That girl from his class so long ago - he couldn't remember her name - was definitely better cared for than Eyal was. He doubted she would grace the district square with her presence so late in the night. Besides, the movements that this girl was making with her hands was more likely to bloody her fingers with a nail file. Fatigue and his ever-complaining stomach disallowed any other ideas to form, but he wanted to know.

So he called to her: "what are you doing?"

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

I continue scraping away at the small block of wood for the next few minutes, the silence killing me. I keep looking at the boy out of the corner of my eye, hoping that he has left. But no, he stays put. The wood is slowly taking shape. I think I'm going to make it a jabberjay. The beautiful blue and black bird that can perfectly imitate human speech. Sometimes I wish I had paint to color my little wooden creations. At home, I keep the best of them in a little drawer. No one save Mace and me have ever seen them. I'm carving the finer details now, like the feathers and the eyes. I don't like how blunt this carving tool is. It makes the marks too deep and wide. 

It's another couple of minutes before I remember why I'm here. To wait for the boy to move, again, I look out of the corner of my eye, then suddenly pause. He's watching me. I remember his eyes were closed when a first came here. Now they're wide open, intent on me. No, not just me. My hands. The carving. I look down at the jabberjay, turning it over and over in my hands. I continue carving until I hear a sound come from the fountain. I'm so focused on the piece of wood, it takes me a moment to register that the sound was words. A sentence. Something the boy said. I pause again, trying to recall what he said. Then I have it. "What are you doing?" What am I doing? I look down at the carving in my hand, suddenly nervous and unsure of what to say.

It's turning into a pretty good piece of art, with outstretched wings as if in flight, and it's beak is open, suggesting that it is singing. What do I say, what do I say?! I prop my elbow up on my knee, so the carving catches the sunlight. No, moonlight. Have I really been here that long? It seems, impossible, but I guess it's true. I turn my head toward him, wondering of my eyes are red from the crying. I hope not. I clear my throat and try to make my voice project across the way. "Carving," I say. I'm not sure if I was loud enough. I can just hope that he can hear me. I also hope he doesn't discover that Im lying. I'm actually waiting for him to move. Carving is just a past time. Right now, all I can do is hope. Hope he doesn't see the hidden carving tools. Hope my eyes aren't red. Hope he leaves. Hope he believes my half lie.

[Sheena]

A long silence seemed to follow the question that Eyal had asked. He thought that the girl did not hear him, although he thought that hiw voice had been quite loud and clear, and was about to repeat the question when the answer came: "carving." That made sense. Much more sense than nail-filing. Eyal waited for the girl to give him more information - what was she carving? Why was she carving at night? Why not carve at home? However, silence filled the air once more.

Eyal had seen carvings throughout the district. It was a common past time in District 7, and he had admired them, but he didn't think his hands were careful enough to work at such a task - especially details. Besides, he did not have anyone who would be willing to teach him. Most people, he knew, learned it from a family member or close friend rather than a stranger or friendly acquaintance. He sighed his heavy sigh when the girl made no further sound and called out to her again: "what are you carving?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he stood and walked slowly towards the girl. He didn't want to walk to fast, fearing that he might startle her. Like a deer, he joked to himself. If he walked too slow though, she might question his intelligence. Eyal thought out his pace carefully. "Where did you learn to carve?" he asked as he approached closer.

The moon was rising higher in the sky and the square was becoming illuminated enough for him to see the girl's features more easily. The girl had long black hair pulled to one side of her neck, but it could have been brown for all he knew. The night still made her eyes look dark, but the moon made her skin look pale, though Eyal suspected it was darker than the light led on.

When he finally reached the girl, he smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible. He waited for his answer.

[ooc: I may not be able to reply until Sunday night, just so you know! Also, sorry for the short length.]

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

It's silent for a while, as if he excepts me to say more. What else is there to say? I'm carving, big deal. I brush some of the sawdust of my pants, turning the jabberjay over in my hands. If only I had paint. But in a district as poor as 7, not even the richest people can afford paint. It would take several years for my parents to save up enough money, and even at that, they'd probably starve while doing so. My parents...they're probably so worried about me right now. But I can't leave. I need to make sure that boy doesn't find the carving tools. If he does, he'll have questions, surely. Why did I hide them in the fountain? Why am I hiding them in the first place? Does anyone else know about it? He could tell the Peacekeepers, and then I'd be in so much trouble. What would they think? They would be extremely curious as to why I was hiding them, especially why I was hiding them in a fountain. 

I jump a little when I hear the boy speak again. "What are you carving?" So that's what he wanted to know. What I'm carving. Instead of waiting for an answer, he gets up and walks over to me. It almost looks like he's measuring his steps. Not too slow, not too fast. Why? Maybe he doesn't want to scare me? Maybe he doesn't want anyone else to hear? I'm getting even more nervous the closer he gets. At least he's moving farther away from the tools. "Where did you learn to carve?" He asks. I put the carving tool down next to me, looking at the bird. It's turning out to be much better than I expected, and Im almost done. It almost looks like it has the real markings of a jabberjay. I start to think about paint again, but then I stop myself. Would you give it up, Sorrel? Your never going to have paint. It would kill mom and dad to get enough money. Suddenly I remember the boy had asked me a question. I look up, and Im startled to see him right next to me. Oh, that's right. He walked over here.

I hold up the bird in the same position I had it earlier, with my elbow propped up on my knee and the bird in my hand. I've carved little legs and claws onto it, which are curled up close to it's feathered underbelly. The tail feathers flow behind it, giving the impression of wind. "A jabberjay." I say, answering his first question. I can't think of many words at the moment, so nothing else comes out of my lout except: "My father taught me when I was seven." I have a little, round, wooden ball in with all my other carvings. It was the first thing I ever made with my carving tools. It's bumpy and full of splinters, but I wanted to keep it.

[Sheena]

Eyal stood in front of this girl in the moonlight and watched her as she looked at the carving she had been working on. She seemed lost in thought, or she was ignoring him, which was a very strong possibility. It’s probably smarter to ignore strangers in the night than chat with them, he thought, smirking, He didn’t want to come off more strange than he already was by smiling to himself over a joke that only he had heard. Worse, it was his own joke. At least it was a dark enough to hide his quirks from the girl.

The silence was growing longer, but Eyal decided not to repeat either of his questions. He was sure she had heard him. If she was ignoring him, then she would have to deal with him standing awkwardly in front of her. It was a fool-proof plan, Eyal decided. She did finally speak to him, though, and told him that it was a jabberyjay. The darkness disallowed him to see the detail, even with the bright moon shining above the trees, but he could definitely see the shape of a bird. Yes. He would just have to take her word about it being a jabberyjay. “My father taught me when I was seven,” she continued, answering the second question he had asked her. Although he had seen beautiful carvings throughout the district, he had never personally known a person who was able to carve. So he decided that this girl could be the first and he said as much: ”I’ve never actually met anyone who was able to carve. It’s really cool.” He paused and then said, ”my name is Eyal.”

He took the spot next to her on the large rock, trying not to get too close, lest he scared her off. Eyal rolled his eyes in the dark. If she were really as skittish as I am making her out to be, she would already be gone, he thought. He looked down at the jabberjay in her hands. ”Can I see it?” he asked hopefully.

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

I sit there for a minute or so, waiting for him to say something. Actually, it's more like a couple seconds. Every minutes is dragging out in my mind, and it's agonizing. I do realize the boy is answering me a lot faster than I'm answering him. I'm just a little skittish, I guess, in the dark and with a boy next to me who, in the moonlight, looks fairly strong. But I'm strong, too. I can fight. I can handle weapons, definitely. But why am I thinking like that? There are no weapons here, and the odds of him attacking me are very small. I push away the thought, keeping my head down and looking at the bird. I listen to the boy, scraping away a few more shavings with the carving tool. "I've never actually met someone who was able to carve. It's really cool." I grin, though my face is covered by my black hair.

A compliment. I suddenly feel a whole lot more comfortable, and Im reminding myself that this boy is not a stranger to me. Come to think of it, I'm sure I've seen him before, working in the lumberyards. If I remember correctly, he always seems to have a lingering smile, wether he's happy or not. I can't remember anything else. Is he tall? I think so. I want to look up at him, but that would just look weird. I decide it will be hard for him to find the carving tools. They're well hidden, it's dark out, and he hasn't once turned his head to the top of the fountain. Or at least I think. "My name is Eyal." Eyal. So that's his name. I want to say the name aloud, see how it feels in my mouth and how it rolls of my tongue. Instead, I try to picture it. I'd have to say the name to be sure, but I think I like it.

His-Eyal, I have to call him now- next movement startles me a bit, and my guard is up again. He sits down next to me on the rock, and, like his steps, it looks as if he's measuring the space between the two of us. Close enough to have a conversation, far enough to not feel awkward.
Another pause, I think. But then again, time is still dragging out in my mind. I start turning my head toward the fountain, a longing look in my eyes, then I quickly stop. If I do that, I'm sure he'll get suspicious. I try to prepare myself for the fact that I won't get my usual carving tools tonight. Just this blunt little knife. A picture flashes in the back of my mind: Samuel, sitting at the base of a tree, playing with this same type of carving tool. A hollow crack. The scream. Thud. I want to cry, but I can't do it in front of Eyal. He'll get curious.

"Can I see it?" His voice startles me yet again, but Im careful not to jump. He already thinks I'm nervous enough. "Sure," I say quickly, trying to make my answers as fast as his. I don't think he likes how long I take to speak. But almost right away, I regret my choice. I want to keep a hold on the little carving, but I know I have to show him now. I hand it over to him, feeling the bird's clawed feet and feathered wings before I put it into Eyal's hands. I recall him giving his name, and the thought of giving my own appears. It's the formal thing to do. "I'm Sorrel, by the way." For the first time, I make eye contact with him. I can't see his eye color in this light, but if he would turn just a bit, the moonlight would probably be bright enough for me to see them. I try to ignore these thoughts, and instead, wait to see what he does with the carving.

[Sheena]

The girl had answered his question very quickly – almost too quickly. He thought that she might be trying to make up for the long silence preceding her answers thus far. Silence had never particularly bothered him though, and he could bear awkward silence better than anyone else, he thought. It was surely a talent.

There was a strange excitement that Eyal felt, being able to hold the piece of art in his own hands. He kept the said excitement hidden as best he could and was no longer smiling as a result. Instead, he was turning the carving around in his hands. A jabberjay. The detail that this girl had used to create this bird was incredible. Eyal could see the clear markings that distinguished a jabberjay from other birds, especially its close brother, the mockingjay.

“I’m Sorrel, by the way,” the girl adds. Sorrel. The name sounds familiar, but if he had talked to her before in great lengths, he would have known for sure. He had a decent memory when it came to people he conversed with, if only because they would always remain acquaintances and never become friends. He had no true friends about whom he had to remember details, so his mind had some free space dedicated to his acquaintances.

”It’s nice to meet you, Sorrel,” he replied, looking up from the bird and at her instead. Speaking her name would help Eyal remember it. Now that he was closer to her, he could see her features more clearly. The dark still hid the colour of her eyes from him, but he suspected that even in the light they were dark. Her skin was also darker, as though tanned – perhaps from the recent sun that had graced (or plagued) the district with its presence. Eyal had become very tanned, except for his neck, which seemed constantly burned due to its frequent exposure to the sun. It was usually a rare sight to see Eyal without a shirt, but the recent heat had become unbearable while working and he often welcomed the shirtless freedom. As a result, his upper body in general was fairly well-tanned (and burned).

He looked back to the jabberjay in his hands, and marvelled at the detail. Eyal imagined it with the jabberjay colouring and thought that it would look more remarkable if it had a suitable coat of paint. He assumed that Sorrel would know this, so remained silent. Paint was expensive and completely unnecessary in a place like District 7. So he complimented the work instead. ”This is really something,” he said. ”Have you considered doing it professionally?” As soon as he spoke, it dawned on him that the Capitolites probably had little use for wooden jabberjays. Even if they did decorate their houses with animals such as jabberjays, they would all probably be made out of marble, maybe stone. But there could have been a market for such knick-knacks, ”That is,” he continued, ”if the Capitol lets you.” What else could he say?

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

I can't help immediately noticing the emptiness in my hands. I'm usually either carving something or hacking away at the pine trees in the woods, but without the wood in my hands, it feels odd. The air seems colder, and the wind sharper. I've never felt this way before. It's just so strange. I try to change my thoughts, and then I remember that Eyall is holding the carving. I look up at him, and suddenly I see his smile disappear. What? Why? Was there something wrong with the carving? Did I carve it incorrectly? We're the legs to stiff? Was the beak bent at a strange angle? I bite my tongue, stopping myself from asking aloud what I did wrong. Another long silence stretches out, and when he speaks again, it's not about the carving. That's how bad it is. He doesn't have the heart to tell me that I messed up. "It's nice to meet you, Sorrel." The words barely register in my mind. I haven't shown my carvings to anyone, and no one has ever told me what they think of my work, if they even get the chance to see it. I'm starting to feel just a little angry. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. I'm not a good carver.

"This is really something. Have you considered doing it professionally?" Suddenly I'm speechless. My throat feels dry, my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, and my teeth are clenched together. He likes it? He likes my carvings? I hope I don't look as surprised as I am. I would look shocked, or so I think. I can just picture it: wide brown eyes, open mouth, and my freckles standing our more than usual. I don't like the image. At least my mouth is shut tight, my lips sealed into a thin line. At least. Eyall's next words come quick, snapping me out of my daze. "That is, if the Capitol let's you." If the Capitol let's me?

I consider this for a moment. Of course, I had thought several times of setting up a little business in the District. But wood cost money, and I would have to stop working in the lumberyards, and no one would care for little wooden trinkets, nor would they have the money even of they did. But for the Capitol? That was different. I know from pictures of them and videos in the Hunger Games that they like buying useless things, showing them off and saying without words, "Look how many pretty things I have." It was all just a stupid game of useless knick-knacks. "I...I don't know." My voice sounds forced and strained, but it's true. I don't know. Am I good enough? Would I still he able to get enough money to feed my family? Mace and dad would still work in the yards, of course. Mom might be able to help me...no, on second thought. She isn't a great carver. I'm surprised that I even learned to carve, because neither of my parents do it. "I wouldn't even know where to start. No one in the district has ever seen the carvings." I say, my voice a little more stable.

OOC: Sorry for such a late reply. I was on vacation.

[Sheena]

There was an expected moment of silence that followed Eyal’s question. When Sorrel spoke again, it was a simple, “I- I don’t know.” He hadn’t missed her hesitation. Was she unsure? He had not expected someone with so great a talent to be unsure of said talent. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she continued. “No one in the district has ever seen the carvings.” This surprised Eyal and he had no doubt that it showed on his face. She had said that she’d been carving since she was seven and she looked about his age. Ten years and he was the first to see any of her work? ”Really? So, I’m the first to actually see one of your art pieces?” he asked. That’s what that jabberjay was. Art. He chuckled, a smile back on his face, ”I kind of feel special.” It was only a half joke.

She seemed to be eyeing her carving in a way that suggested she thought Eyal might ‘hurt’ it, so he handed it back to her. ”Where to start?” he repeated, asking the question almost to himself. ”I think you should actually let people see what you can do. You don’t have to sell them. I’m sure that some people you know would be thrilled to receive one as a gift. People should know.” He doubted that the Capitol would find these little carvings and be amazed by the talent, so much so as to bring Sorrel into their city to become rich like he imagined would happen, but there was always a possibility. In any case, the district would be aware of Sorrel and her talent, which wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Eyal looked up to the sky. The stars that were once visible were now washed out by the light given off by the moon. Night was always a wonder. There was many a night that Eyal found himself unable to sleep. More so as of late with the heat’s consistent presence. He would go into the forest, to his special tree and just allow the thoughts to flow and the stars to shine. His favourite nights were when the moon was gone. The moon was magnificent, yes, but there were so many stars to see. It made him feel so tiny. And all of Panem was so insignificant compared to that dark, ever-changing sky.

[ooc: that's okay. I've been suffering from severe writer's block all around. So, I'm sorry for the delay now =P]

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

I watch his expression change from one of curiosity to one of surprise. I can understand his surprise, I guess, but I never really thought about the fact that I've never shown anyone my carvings. Why would I? Why would anyone in the district want these little toys? They're just pretty things to look at, and have no use in regard to tools. An axe or a hatchet is of much more use here, and is of much greater worth. "Really?" Eyall's voice interrupts my thoughts. "So, I'm the first to actually see one of your art pieces? I kind of feel special." A small explosion of laughter escapes my throat, but I stop quickly. I sound like a toddler. I could hear a ring of truth to his words, I'm sure of it. Maybe he was serious. I don't want to think about it, so instead, I wonder about what he called the wooden carving.

Art? Is that what the carvings are? I never thought of it that way. Sure, I made them with my hands, but could they really be called art pieces? Maybe that's what people think of anything someone can make with their hands. Like a painting, or a piece of jewelry. I turn my gaze over to the carving.
Art. I'm taken by surprise when he hands me the carving. I'm kind of glad to have it back, I admit. I trace my fingers through the wooden feathers, the emptiness in my hands now filled. I seem to be a little more relaxed while Eyall continues to talk. "Where to start? I think you should actually let people see what you can do. You don’t have to sell them. I’m sure that some people you know would be thrilled to receive one as a gift. People should know.” I consider this carefully. True, some people would like them as a gift. But then again, the carvings are like a bit of comfort to me, and I'd be sad to give them up. Maybe I could make a few carvings that I won't be sad to lose. Yes, that's it. That could work. Still, I don't know what other's will think of the carvings.

I've just gotten one opinion from one person. How would everyone else react? I know some people who would say they're great, no matter what they thought. They'd be too kind to say how bad they thought the figures were. I almost groan, but I quickly stop myself, remembering that I'm not alone in the square...like I usually am. "Yeah, I guess so." I say. I don't know what else to say about that topic, so I change the subject. "Do you know anyone else in the district who can carve?" It's not the best thing to talk about, I know. In fact, the question almost sounds boring. I wonder if he'll notice how unsure I am about showing other people the little wooden figures.

OOC: No problem! ^^

[Sheena]

”Yeah, I guess so,” Sorrel replied. Eyal wondered why she hesitated and gave such a simple response. He wondered if the topic of her carvings made her uncomfortable. He didn’t think that it should, simply because he was so enthralled with the art, but he thought he could sense a guard up around the topic. Eyal wasn’t a stranger putting up a guard to keep people out. Of course, his related to the memories and feelings regarding his mother, but it probably felt similar anyway.

“Do you know anyone else in the district who can carve?” she asked.

”No, I haven’t,” Eyal replied. You would think that there would be more people in a district such as Seven who would be able to carve wood, he thought. ”Do you think there are many who can carve?” Like you, he almost added.

He thought about the talents that he knew people had. There weren’t really many. Most ‘talents’ were shared with everyone who worked in the forest and lumberyards, and revolved around axes or saws or strength. Eyal supposed it would be beneficial to have certain Seven talents if one were to be reaped for the Games, but other than that, they were nothing special. He thought about his father, who he rarely spoke to. Did he have any talents? Coldness, silence, hostility, the ability to never smile, Eyal thought, smiling to himself. He couldn’t remember his mother having any malleable talent either – that was probably why Eyal was so lacking – but if he had to name some, it would fall into every category that his father’s did not. She was warm and friendly; she laughed frequently and seemed to always have a smile on her face. Of course, he was seven when she died, so his memory of her was probably not the most reliable. Though even when she was sick she seemed lighthearted with an everlasting smile.

[Timtab]

><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><
Dark green is for the forest and what she does.
Summer green is for the grass and what she thinks.
Pale green is for a weeping willow and what she says.
Brown is for the tree bark and what she hears.
><<<<<<<<>>>>>>>><

It doesn't take long for Eyall to answer, which comes as no surprise. So far, he's had a quick tongue and takes very little time to think. I don't mind, even though I'm the complete opposite. "No, I haven't." He says. "Do you think there are many who can carve?" He looks as if he's about to say something else, but then stops himself. I wonder what else he could have said. I can't think of anything at the moment. I'm getting a little annoyed with myself for taking such a long time to answer his questions. Because of it, the conversation sounds choppy and stalled. I can't help it. I like to think about things before I say them. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

"Probably not." The words are out of my mouth almost before I realize what I'm doing. A smile actually appears on my face, though it quickly disappears. I'm pleased with myself. I almost sounded normal. I look up at the stars, trying to pick out the few constellations that I know. I never learned many, and even though I know a few, not many stars are visible with a full moon. I like nights when there is no moon, and I can make pictures with the stars and imagine that they are moving as I work away on a carving. My eyes flit over to Eyall, and for a split second, I wonder if he knows any of the same constellations I do. I once found a huge, dusty old book in my dad's room. 

It was from the 23 century, or so it said. I don't even know what that means. It had diagrams of the stars and strange names for the shapes I can pick out. It looked hand-written, which is quite common in District 7. The paper was old and yellow, with a few stains and ripped edges. I decided to keep it, and it's still hidden under my bed. Sometimes I take it out and try to find the same pictures in the sky as there is on the paper. Occasionally I'm able to find them, but more often not. I notice the silence stretching out is getting unnecessarily long, and I'm trying desperately to think of something to say. It's getting late, and I should be getting back home, but I don't want to leave my hidden carving tools alone with a stranger. Well, I guess Eyall's not really a stranger anymore, but I don't yet trust him. Maybe I will someday.

"Do you know any constellations?" Yet again, my own words surprise me. I hadn't even thought of them
Before they were out of my mouth. Now that I do think about them, the question should keep the conversation going. If he doesn't know any, I could probably show him. If he does, that just means I'll get to learn a few extras. That is, if he points them out to me. There were a few blank pages in the back of the old book, and I've added one or two of my own constellations. They're not nearly as neat or pretty as the other ones, but at least it gives me something to look at.