𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 || Narnia x The Hunger Games Crossover

Chapter Twenty

Lucy woke to grey light filtering through the sparse treetops, and sat up from the bed of bare pine needles a few feet from the blackened remains of last night's fire, her bow propped at her back.

She didn't remember moving from the tree.

Edmund stepped over her legs and dropped a dead rabbit on the other side of the ash heap, wiping a knife on his sleeve and leaving a brown stain.

"That was fast," said Caspian, coming in from the other side with a bundle of sticks under his arm. "Where on earth did you learn to throw like that?"

"Home."

Caspian raised an eyebrow as he crouched and unloaded the sticks on top of the ashes, setting them up against each other.

Lucy blinked and reoriented herself, suddenly wondering whether last night had even happened, but Caspian met her searching eyes before any audible question could leave her lips, and shot her a very small good-morning smile that answered whatever she might have asked.

"There's not a lot to do for fun in Six, okay?"

Caspian smirked and glanced from Lucy to Edmund. "Yeah, I bet you were real fun."

The boy flipped his knife easily and caught it again with the same hand, aiming its tip at Caspian. "I can have some fun with you, if you'd like."

"Or you could gut that thing and give us some breakfast."

Edmund glanced down at the rabbit, huge and tan—in fact it might have been a hare, though Lucy had never seen one before. "Unfortunately, you make a compelling argument."

Lucy struggled to her feet, pushing her tangled hair out of her face and squinting with a big stretch. "Don't mind me... I'm just gonna... make myself scarce for this part." She relaxed and motioned clumsily to the Hare. "Not a fan."

"Hey, how do you think I feel?" asked Edmund.

"Hungry?" She smiled sweetly and batted her lashes.

He conceded with an eye roll and slipped his knife into the carcass.

Lucy winced and turned away, searching the trees for something to occupy her mind as she worked her fingers through her hair with a great deal of effort. "Gosh," she muttered, pulling a matted lock over her face and squinting up as she tried to pull it apart. "This is a tragedy. How hard can it be to send a hairbrush down here? A comb, maybe? I'd settle for a sturdy pick."

"I've got a rabbit-sized rib cage, if you're patient," drawled Edmund, and she shot him an unimpressed look.

"I'm not that desperate."

He glanced at her hair like he wasn't too sure about that, but turned away before she could stick her tongue out at him.

She huffed and glanced at Caspian, who smiled.

For a second, she saw him again the way he'd looked last night, tearstains glistening in scattered moonlight as his warm, rough fingers tangled with hers, and something jumped in her chest. But Caspian just nodded to the woods, his strangely cheery composure unbroken. "If you're looking for something to do, there are some berry bushes that way."

"Thanks," she said, attempting to shake off her thoughts even as her fingers moved absently to brush the mockingjay pin still affixed to the lapel of her jacket. She stepped into the underbrush and made her way a few dozen yards into the trees, until she found one of the ever-so-common blackberry bushes and stripped it, filling her pockets as she realized too late that she hadn't brought a bag with her.

After last night, she probably shouldn't be thinking about sponsor gifts, anyway. Some contenders they'd proved themselves to be, not to mention they'd all but admitted they'd never actually met before the Games. Their whole story had come undone. Though she supposed it had been a long time since she'd fooled anyone into thinking she was victor material, anyway.