Vetch Frostkine
"When the world stops spinning, you'll just keep on running, won't you?"
With a grunt of pain, Vetch pulled himself from his stupor. "My god... I hate the games." He murmured to himself, hands shaking as he examined the deep wound. He could see the whiteness of his bone in the deepest place. The knife was very thin and sharp, perfect for a deep slash. Just his luck, half dead on the first day. Reminding himself that he had to keep up good thoughts, Vetch turned to the contents of his pack. Nothing to help with his wound.
















