Faint of Heart {Lancelot)

[charade]

WILLIAM SCARLETT
Wanderer

It had been a successful day.

Two rabbits, and a bird of indeterminate species. Along with the berries and roots he’d gathered in the morning, dinner was shaping up to be a wonderful affair. This was the life. No buildings. No people. No hunger games. Just the wide open sky and the endless green of the forest. He’d run with groups every now and then, sure. But he always got tired of them in the end. Or rather, they got tired of him.

Something about never knowing when to shut his damn mouth. Or his inescapable immaturity. Whatever. They were a bunch of fartknockers anyway. It was getting late. The moon had risen, though it was hidden by the treetops, and stars winked at him through the breaks. He had a fire going, and one of the rabbits was slowly charring on the spit he’d built. He was good at that sort of thing. He’d hailed from district seven originally, the son of a lumberjack.

But then, who in district seven wasn’t?

He poked the rabbit a little, testing the crispiness, when he heard a twig snap. That was fine. Twigs tended to do that. But then another twig snapped. That generally meant something was in the area. He scanned the trees around the clearing he was in, but saw no discernible shapes. He ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair and wondered.

“Hello? Is—is somewhere there?” William called out, picking up one of the burning branches to use as a torch. He took a few tentative steps forward into the dark. Best case scenario, it was just a squirrel or something. Worst case, it was a late night PK patrol. But he’d gotten good at avoiding those. How many years had he lived out here on his own now? He had to be what, twenty-three? Birthdays were hard to keep track of when you didn’t have a calendar, and he hadn’t had one in…

Well, you get the picture.

He tried to map out where he was in his head. A few weeks ago he’d wandered by a border fence, so he’d gone in the opposite direction of it since. He’d thought it might have been the fence for district twelve, but he hadn’t been sure. He couldn’t be near district thirteen could he? He knew it wasn’t a myth, he’d met enough wanderers that had seen it, or claimed to see it at least, and he hadn’t thought they’d been lying.

Hopefully the noise was just another lost soul like himself, drawn to the warmth of the fire. But he still didn’t see anyone…