𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟎𝟒. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

— 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

If being strangled over night hadn't killed me, the cold just might. Sure, I lived in one of the colder districts but living in one of the richer districts meant I was always prepared for the winter to come. Here, the temperature was barbaric and snowflakes were enough to bruise knuckles. I couldn't even imagine how the districts that rarely experienced winter were still alive. It was a miracle that after a week no one had died just from the conditions alone. The instructors hadn't been lying when they said our environment was our number one enemy.

The entire alliance was growing more frustrated with each day that had passed. Over the span of the week, the only tributes that had died were those on day one. It was like any of the other survivors had burrowed themselves away somewhere and kept hidden as if that would save their lives.

And then there was a glimmer of excitement to come. Faint echoes of screaming reached our ears from the south, calling us to a hidden glen behind the illusion of a mountain base. The frozen willow leaves that draped over the entrance might have made the Capitol gasp at their beauty, but they only acted as a hindrance in our way. With one clean sweep each, Lux and I sliced away at the willow branches and cleared a path.

We rushed forward, believing that we'd easily outnumber and overcome whatever tributes remained from the presumed brawl; however, we were proven wrong once more and forced to freeze in our tracks. Unfortunately our battle cries and jeers weren't caught in our throats like everything else.

Inside that glen was seven tributes, but they weren't alone. The closest thing I could compare them to were wolves, but the muttations were far more grotesque. Their size was the first distinct feature about them. Had they stood on their hind legs, I'd say they could have easily been nine feet tall. Their fur was long, silver, and matted. Their fangs curled out and down from their lips almost as if they'd been bred with sabretooths. Their claws were like razors, evident from the eighth tribute that I'd missed. Immediately my mind flashed back to the girl of district seven who I'd incidentally left unrecognizable... this tribute lying in the snow was worse.

From behind, I heard someone else gag as they made a similar observation: Beckett I think. And maybe it's because he recognized the girl from his own district as implied by the fishing spear buried in the snow beside what remained of her corpse.

One of the living female tributes screamed as one of the wolves lunged forward, biting a chunk of her arm before tearing away. A male tribute—with a bandage wrapped around a stump which was probably once a hand—rammed the mutt with his spear before dragging the female tribute away.

We were all too welcome to stand back and watch, but perhaps we should have just run away instead. Five tributes escaped, two had been left behind to fend for themselves. And only after both of them had been shredded—or worse, eaten alive—the mutts slowly turned in our direction.

Like a child crying out for help, with his dying breath the last tribute called out to the gods for mercy before his throat was snapped with a sickening crunch. This neither worked in his favor nor ours as it notified the mutts that their feast wasn't over just yet.

"Spread out," I instructed the others. "It's three against five."

"I'm sorry, did you not just see them take out eight tributes without so much as a whimper?" Rena incredulously asked.