Timber

Chapter Thirty-Three: Arrows and Allegiances

Hazel's heart lurched in her chest as she watched Owen come to an abrupt halt. A sharp cry of pain escaped his lips, followed by a grimace of shock as he gazed down at his impaled shoe. The deep blue, feathered end of an arrow protruded from the rounded toe of his leather boot. He bent forward in agony, resting his hands on his knees, his eyes darting from his foot to the surrounding trees behind Hazel and Silus. Beside him, Grace froze, her previously aggressive stance melting away as her arm, once poised for battle with her spear, fell limply to her side. Her dilated pupils brimmed with alarm, her mouth agape in a silent gasp.

Hazel pivoted her gaze to the forest behind her, her wide eyes landing on a figure emerging from the shadows of the district 7 tract. Stray strands of ashy blonde hair clung to his forehead, damp with exertion, framing a face marked by a tight jaw and light grey eyes that sparkled with a mix of determination and amusement. Ethan Black stood with an air of unwavering confidence; his stature accentuated by the sleek, navy-blue bow he held. The bow, polished to a dark sheen, stretched taut between his hands. A new arrow was already nocked, its feathered fletching matching the bow's color scheme, ready to fly at his command. His long arms curved gracefully around the bow, merging with it in a seamless extension of his intent.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Ethan announced, a dry amusement coloring his tone as he surveyed the scene before him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards while his examined the toe of Owen's boot. Owen, wincing in pain, extended a hand towards the feathered shaft, but Ethan's stern warning stopped him. "Go ahead and leave that there," he advised, the tension in the bowstring increasing subtly as he pulled back just a fraction more. Ethan's footfalls barely disturbed the dirt beneath his boots as he moved with a hunter's fluidity toward Grace and Owen. 

Hazel's mind raced as she recalled Festus's words, explicitly stating that there was no alliance with District 12. Yet, the blue feathered arrow that adorned Owen's shoe spoke louder than any formal agreement could.

Aaron, still clutching Mia's arm, glanced back and forth between Ethan and the two District 9 tributes, a look of realization washing over him. Seizing the moment, he helped Mia to her feet. Accompanied by her sharp cry, they hurriedly limped across the last stretch of the field towards the safety of the redwoods. Mia's eyes sparkled with gratitude, even as her body trembled and her shirt dampened with sweat.

Ethan's voice carried a note of surprise. "Wasn't expecting you two to be the ones ambushing Seven and Ten," he remarked, tilting his head while keeping them in his bow's sight. He continued to move toward them with deliberate slowness, his bow still drawn and aimed.

Deep moans escaped Owen's throat as he struggled to draw in short, ragged breaths. Grace, with her spear now dangling limply at her side, shuffled uneasily, her eyes darting over her shoulder; a fleeting glance filled with unease. "We're just doing what we have to do to survive," her voice was strained and hoarse. 

As Hazel observed them up close, the evidence of their encounter with the Capitol's peacekeepers was unmistakable. A deep purple bruise, now turning a sickly shade of olive, almost completely obscured Owen's eye, with just a hint of his light blue iris peering out. Grace bore purple and maroon bruises that bloomed like wild roses along her jaw and extended down her neck, while her clothing was spattered with dried, rusty brown stains across the sleeves and front. The reddened, chapped skin around her wrists peeked out from the cuffs of her shirt. Despite the aftermath of Commander Drayton's punishment, both Grace and Owen had mustered enough resilience to mount a chase. It's almost impressive, really.

Ethan, bow still in hand but slightly lowered, broke the silence. "Got a handcuff key on you?" His tone casual, yet the undercurrent of seriousness was unmistakable.