He hadn't been able to find Rapunzel the night after the explosions. He'd caught her scent once, in company with another, a human boy he didn't know, but the whole area smelled like burning and little else; there hadn't been enough to follow.
Despair had clutched at him, even as he tried to convince himself it was for the best. Because he was hungry, and the little whiff of the stranger's scent had pricked his appetite until he was all but drooling. He knew there'd come a time, and soon, when her scent would do the same, and his heart cringed painfully at the idea.
Maybe she was already dead, even. No, not dead, but back in the Capitol and safe. That idea was a barbed comfort; he tried to confine it to just thoughts of her warm and fed and comfortable. And in case she was still alive here, as the night wore on and his hunger waxed towards that dangerous tipping point that made him fear for his sanity, he made a hard decision while he still could. He fled. Across the Cornucopia's circle and to the farthest opposite end of the Arena. Clear over there, as dawn approached, he found a hole to slink down.
He eyed the rotting sculpture of a fox warily as he slunk across a damp platform ugly with little craters and peeling paint, to the edge of the murk-smelling water. He dipped a hand into it for water to cool his burns, and had to snatch it back as a fish that seemed to be all teeth snapped for his fingers. His yelp of surprise echoed in a weird, sharp way down the nearly black tunnels, and he cringed.
Don't quite yet know the extent of his injuries from the fireworks, but thought I could still try.
Despair had clutched at him, even as he tried to convince himself it was for the best. Because he was hungry, and the little whiff of the stranger's scent had pricked his appetite until he was all but drooling. He knew there'd come a time, and soon, when her scent would do the same, and his heart cringed painfully at the idea.
Maybe she was already dead, even. No, not dead, but back in the Capitol and safe. That idea was a barbed comfort; he tried to confine it to just thoughts of her warm and fed and comfortable. And in case she was still alive here, as the night wore on and his hunger waxed towards that dangerous tipping point that made him fear for his sanity, he made a hard decision while he still could. He fled. Across the Cornucopia's circle and to the farthest opposite end of the Arena. Clear over there, as dawn approached, he found a hole to slink down.
He eyed the rotting sculpture of a fox warily as he slunk across a damp platform ugly with little craters and peeling paint, to the edge of the murk-smelling water. He dipped a hand into it for water to cool his burns, and had to snatch it back as a fish that seemed to be all teeth snapped for his fingers. His yelp of surprise echoed in a weird, sharp way down the nearly black tunnels, and he cringed.