.:Ravelling:. [Salome & Curse]

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

One of the least appreciated portions of the training center (in your humble opinion) is the station set aside for designing shelters. Not that you are surprised it is ignored. Half of the time, tributes are thrown into the games without so much a chance to hope for materials that would shield them from mortal peril. Perhaps these games would be different, and you’d be placed in an arena with a roof over your head, elements be damned. You tried to wrack your brain for the last time tributes weren’t so exposed to the elements (perhaps the caves?), but you shrug your shoulders. Avoiding the fighting stations yet again, you turn to structure building.

None of your cousins would be surprised that you were preparing for harsh conditions. A girl like you was never caught unawares; better to know how to make a lean-to, lest you be placed in an icy arena, or a little hut to avoid the sun that might blasting overhead. You placed your hands on your hips and imagined the differing possibilities. You settle on a structure made of wood, rope, and tree coverings. Better to create something that could be tweaked for any situation, rather than guessing. There’s a calmness to it—preparing for the worst, and expecting better than what you’ve been given.

As your tiny frame hunches over the stack of sticks you’ve collected, you chew your lips. District Eleven was not about building. You collected fruit and roots, and never much feared the weather. No one in your family was a builder, either—not one of your cousins was interested in any such thing. You press on, wrapping some twine to create an even base. A few hours pass, and your slow, methodic pace reveals a half completed structure with a flat base and four posts. A roof could follow, but you sit back and marvel at your handy work instead.

“Knowing them, we’re going to be in some sort of volcanic hell scape, and I’ll have wasted a whole day.” You mutter to yourself and slap your knees as you move to stand. You clear your throat. “I guess it could be worse, hmmm?” Not that you’re looking for any advice—but in a place with nearly fifty other bodies, you’re quite certain you’ll get some.