It was a dark day for the country of Ponem, though not the darkest yet.
Mix trotted through her hometown of District Eleven, letting her wings go loose. They were ruined, anyways, so what was the use of trying to fly? She saw many little fillies on the street, crying from hunger and despair, even though this district produced and managed most of the food in this horrid utopia. She remembered when she was one of them, begging for a few bits to buy a small loaf of bread. She tossed a gold pence to a particularly small fellow, who smiled and joined a few of his friends to count up their earnings. Mix flattened her ears, remembering what her brother, Jayflier, had wrote on the napkin that morning. I am sending you to the market for some extra food, to make some stew tonight. Ignore the beggars no matter how much they push you to help, and focus on the task at hand. Mix sighed. She had already bought the food, and it was for good. At least her older brother couldn’t yell at her, him being deaf and all. She looked forward and felt the weight of her travel bags, filled with vegetables. Often if she and her brother were hungry enough, they would buy venison from a dragon who runs a tavern at he edge of town, but they preferred not to. Mix didn’t want to eat anything related to her for a while yet.
She shifted and felt the sharp pricks of spit darts in the bags against her flank. She stopped and pulled them out, placing one expertly in her mouth. She inhaled through her nose, and there was a small whooshing noise as the dart flew out of her mouth to land embedded in a branch two or three meters away, behind a high fence. There was a sharp crack, and a branch with fresh Zap-apples clinging to it fell. Mix trotted up to it and grasped it in her teeth over the fence, which guarded all the thieving ponies from the crop. She hauled it over the sensors with the echoes of past experience, and fluently shook the apples into her open saddlebag, tossing the branch over the fence to be cleaned up by the worker ponies.
“Dessert.” Mix said, satisfied with her handiwork.
When Mix returned home for the night Jayflier stood at the door. He motioned with his hooves in sign language, saying, Where have you been? Why are your saddlebags so full?
Mix smiled. “I found dessert.”
Her older brother hesitated, reading Mix’s lips, then scowled, despite his sibling’s happiness. Mix, you know you can be killed for stealing stuff like that.
Mix frowned. “You might as well enter me in the Games.” She joked, dumping her haul on the table. Jayflier rolled his eyes and dropped everything but the Zap-apples into the pot he had grabbed off of the unicorn-enchanted stovetop.
The Reaping is tomorrow, he signed.
Mix sighed. “I know. And my name is entered…. What? Four times now?”
Yes, but mine is entered eight. You must be prepared for me to leave you.
Mix sighed. “Jay, haven’t you heard? Anypony who is deaf is ineligible to play. You’re off the hook.”
Jayflier opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut, deciding not to say anything would be best.
