burnwithus | (and amateur cartography)

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gwaine

(and amateur cartography)

The invisible fence that keeps the dinosaurs from entering the rest of the island reminds her of the electrified fence that surrounded District 12. It looked entirely foreign to her, the presence of something modern and terrible in the middle of the forest. She goes no further than the posts that mark it, not stupid enough to risk her life over the appeal of exploring the wilderness.

But she hears a noise from within, more than the usual stomping of giant feet and angry roars. A human voice, faint but definite. And despite all of her mind's more sensible protests to ignore it and run while she can, she can't. Won't. Because Katniss once made a promise to herself that she wouldn't run anymore. Even if it is her first instinct, she hates herself for it.

Maybe it's her mind's subconscious way of trying to atone for all those people she's killed. Katniss would laugh if she realized this, more inclined to believe that she's doing this because her life doesn't mean much anyways.

Her feet are silent on the grass, one arrow knocked to her half-drawn bowstring. Moving through the foliage as if she were no more than a ghost.

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"Why do you care, anyhow?" he asks, almost casually as he falls into step with her while they walk. "After all, you're so keen to call me an idiot and all other sorts of names. Wouldn't it just be easier for you if you'd let me to die?" He's always imagined it's coming like that -- a strange creature of magic catching him off guard.

He'll die, but at least he'll die in the midst of something adventurous.

"Because --" she stops for a moment. Because you look like him, Katniss was about to say. But that was wrong too, wasn't it? Gale was gone. The hole he had left behind was still there, but that wasn't all of it. The rest were things that he couldn't quite explain, and after a moment, Katniss simply rolls her eyes and pretends to be annoyed like she always does. Prickliness is her go-to defense mechanism, like a cactus with its needles. "Don't ask questions," she finally concedes, looking at him as if daring him to argue.

"Don't ask questions, she says," he echoes, snorting as he walks along, not daring to talk back to her lest she put an arrow in him. "Well, thank you, Little Kit. And what shall I do to repay you? Leave you alone?"

"You don't have to repay me," Katniss hates owing people, that's a matter of pride that won't go away. But she has no qualms about others owing her. She won't even really keep track. It just helps to know the score, is all. "It's no big deal."

If this is kindness on her part, she neither sees nor acknowledges it.

"Well, you did save my life," he points out, unable to keep his derisive scoff in. His brow is already pinched and he's feeling an ache coming on. "At least, let me drop off a pelt of something or other on your doorstep. Let you borrow my horse?"

"Horse?" Katniss had more than enough pelts and things, and even if she didn't she could always get some herself. But that was one word she hadn't heard much, or at all. There wasn't any use for them in the dystopian future. For all anyone knew, they were extinct. "What's that?"

He's being stupidly stubborn with his need to thank her, but fine. Let him. In some way, Katniss understands. She'd do the same thing.

He stops, absolutely stops, and then grabs at her wrist. "You're coming with me," he says, bringing her along through the paths -- not in the direction of civilization, but towards the stable where he boards Esmeralda. "You've never ridden a horse before? You've never seen one?" he asks, in some disbelief. "I know I'm from a time before most people, but I thought horses would make it through."

"It's some kind of animal, right?" when he grabs her wrist, it's very hard for her not to flinch - in fact she does, but unlike in the past, she doesn't lash out. Katniss grudgingly allows herself to be dragged, curiosity winning over. These are things from a world completely different from hers, which she doesn't belong to. She sees it from a distance, head tilting for a moment.

"Wait. You ride it?"

"I can't believe you've never seen one," he says and it really is pure shock that's all over his face as he talks to her. "Come on, you're not just going to see any old horse, you're going to meet mine. He's a beauty, very good for riding, and I've tamed him and fashioned a saddle. It's not the best, but it'll do."

He leads her along, the pair of them making their way into the stables, and Katniss stares for a moment, wrinkling her nose. It stinks in here, which is saying something because she's no stranger to weird smells. District 12 wasn't exactly the cleanest place in Panem. She watches what she assumes to be the horse warily.

"You could probably feed a family for two weeks with one," she murmurs, taking in how big it is. "There's a lot of meat on it."

"Well, we're not in your world anymore, Little Kit," he says, protecting Esmeralda with his body in front of the stallion, worried that she might come up with a great number of ideas. "Here," he offers, extending his hand to her. "I'll help you up."

Normally, Katniss would have eschewed any help altogether, as was her nature, but one glance of the beast told her that there was no way that she was getting on it without any sort of external help and so she nods - grudgingly, but still. It's a step. "How am I supposed to keep from falling off?" she demanded, because there's nothing quite like this in her world. How could there be?

Gwaine presses his lips together to avoid smirking too hard. He brushes a strand of hair back from off his forehead. "Not to sound utterly lascivious," he says, tapping the flank of the horse. "But you're going to have to pretend that you're astride a very handsome boy and hold tight with your legs."

All things considered, it's a very good thing that Katniss has such dark skin, otherwise the way that the blush creeps over her cheeks would be much more visible than it is. Which is ridiculous. She's not a prude. It's just Gwaine's casual mention that's thrown her for a loop, and she gives him a flustered scowl in return for it. "Well, now I don't want to ride it after all. Since you just made that reference."

He rolls his eyes and gestures to the horse. "It's not a dirty thing, but it's a good way to keep the image in mind. The alternative was telling you to pretend as though you're holding it in after drinking a tankard of ale," he informs her. "Just hold on, will you?" he says as he takes the reins in hand and leads Esmeralda slowly out the stables.

"Fine," it's such an irrational thing to not want to be bested by this animal, or her fears of the unknown likewise. It's just such a foreign concept to wrap her head around - she shot animals, ate them. She didn't ride them, and it wasn't as if there was some sort of similar analogy that existed in her world. Katniss followed the horse (and Gwaine) outside of the stables, still looking up at the thing that obviously dwarfed her in comparison. There was a saddle with lots of straps hanging down - but she's climbed trees before and this shouldn't be any different right? It was just a big...moving...tree.

Katniss is stubborn if nothing else. Except one attempt to climb on just ended in failure. Because unlike a tree, there were no grooves to place her feet in, no branches to reach for purchase.

"This is ridiculous. Why does anyone do this?

Gwaine wraps the lead around his palm and begins to lead the horse outwards into the daylight. "There's a feeling of freedom to it," he explains, finding the best place for her to start. "I'll set him in a light canter. All you have to do is hold on, tight as you can. Can you do that, Little Kit?" he asks warily, not wanting to set her up for an accident -- knowing how serious they really could be.

She sighs, and loudly because it almost physically hurts her pride to have to do this. "You need to...I can't get up on my own," Katniss finally admits, biting down on her bottom lip. Giving him a look that dares him to say anything about it.

Gwaine doesn't say a word. He crouches and forms a step with both of his hands the way he might have done for any child that he would help to ride a horse. "Up you go, then," he coaxes, after giving his stallion a soothing pet.

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