A HANDFUL OF DUST
By Elleirabird

Disclaimer: All characters, places, and concepts from either The Underland Chronicles or The Hunger Games series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!

PART ONE: SECRETS
CHAPTER THREE: PHYSIOGNOMY

Gregor's mother was waiting by the front door when he and Lizzie finally got home from school.

"Mom, I'm sorry-"

"I just got a call from the secretary at your school," Grace said shortly. She tried to look as though she were angry, but her tight lips and strained eyes betrayed so much more. "Fighting, Gregor? Again?"

"Let me explain," he said quickly. "Please."

"I can't keep having this conversation with you," his mother said. Her voice broke.

"Gregor was just trying to help," Lizzie said in a small voice. She was shaking. Out of the three of them, she looked the most upset. "A girl was in trouble. A boy was trying to hurt her. Gregor stopped him."

"I didn't hurt anyone," he told his mother. "But I couldn't just walk away. I'm sorry."

His mom didn't say anything, but her eyes were brimming with tears. She turned quickly away and ducked into the kitchen, where Boots must have been playing. Gregor blew out his breath. Terrible ending to a terrible day.

"Gregor, I'm sorry," Lizzie said, breathing too hard. "I - just thought if Mom knew what had happened - " She stopped talking, chest heaving, tears rolling down her face.

"Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie-izzie," Gregor said, bending down so that they were at eye level. Very carefully, he hugged her, holding her close. "Nobody's angry at you. Not at all. There's no reason to panic."

"I - I - " His little sister slumped against Gregor, and he could feel her shaking again.

He held her for a few minutes, patting her back and crooning silly songs in her ear until she managed to get control of her breathing. When they let go, some of her tears were on his cheek.

"You're making me cry, Liz," Gregor said with only a slightly forced laugh. She giggled. "You have homework?"

"Only a little. It's easy." Lizzie probably should have skipped a grade, but her only friend Jeremiah was in the sixth grade, just like her. So their parents, against the urgings of the teachers, kept her there.

"I'll see if I can get a snack if you can get the white-board, then. Hangman?"

"Okay!"

Lizzie ran off to her room, and Gregor, standing up, lumbered into the kitchen. His mom had her back to him. She was little, too. Too small. Ever since the plague she had a hard time putting on weight. Now Gregor was easily the biggest in the family.

He had grown by leaps and bounds these last months. It was like being out in the sun, up in the air, had triggered his body to finish up what it had started when he was eleven. Now he was almost fourteen, and looked like he was sixteen or seventeen, with his height, his dark hair, all the muscles that had formed from his years of fighting. There was even the beginnings of beard stubble on his jaw.

"I'm really sorry, Mom," he said quietly. Grace turned around. "I wasn't trying to get in trouble. I didn't think."

"Every time that phone rings," she said, "I get terrified. Do you know that? I think it's the police, telling me that you're in jail, or hurt, or..."

"It was just a school fight. Stupid kids. Everything's fine."

"It's not fine," Grace said tersely. "You can't keep doing this, fighting like that. Not at school. That's not how things work. You're not down there anymore, Gregor."

She spat out the words down there like it was a curse.

Despite himself, Gregor could feel the old twinge of his rager-sense rise from below the surface. No. No. Calm down.

"D'you want me to just ignore people getting hurt?" Gregor said. "Just pretend like nothing's happening? That's now how you raised me. That's not how Dad raised me."

"I want you to keep out of trouble."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" he insisted, voice rising. "I can't watch people getting hurt and look away, not after - "

Gregor stopped, voice catching. His eyes burned, and the scars on his sternum ached even more intensely than before. He had to fight himself not to touch them; they were one of the few tangible, mortal reminders of everything that had happened to him. Otherwise, he thought sometimes, it could be almost easy to forget. Let the memories fade into a fairytale, half-told stories of pain and loss and unlikely heroes.

He smirked.

"Gregor," Grace said. He looked up and saw her crossed arms, the scars of pockmarks etched into her skin like craters on the shadow of the moon. "Gregor...I...I know this hasn't been easy for you. Being back up here, after everything that happened. I just want us to be able to move on, as a family. Together."

The word together lingered in the air, the echo of a promise.

His mother took a deep sigh while Gregor waited. "That's why your father and I decided that it's time to finally move down to Virginia."

At first none of it registered. The words were so quiet against the raging of his brain that it was hard for Gregor to let them sink in. He swayed a little, blinking.

"When?" he croaked.

"At the end of the school quarter, before Christmas. We want it to be as easy a transition as possible."

Two months. He had less than two months until they would leave. He had never lived anywhere besides Manhattan. Less than two months until they would disappear and forget about the terrible and wonderful world beneath their feet.

He'd been waiting for this news. Terrified, paranoid of the idea of leaving the city beneath the city where he had lost so much and given so many parts of himself. But Gregor never expected to feel, well, relief.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Virginia."

"Are you okay?" his mother asked.

"Yeah," Gregor muttered. "I'm - fine. Can I go for a walk?" He suddenly felt like the walls of the room were swelling up against him, suffocating. Grace frowned, and he quickly said, "I'm not going to run away to the Underland;" - she flinched - "I just need to get some fresh air. Clear my head."

"Be back for dinner, at least."

"Gotcha."

He nearly ran out the door; it almost caught him on the heels in his stride. The elevator was still broken, so he ran down the stairs, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated out from his chest. It felt good to run, and he kept at it, sprinting down the cracked, debris-filled sidewalk for blocks. Just keep running.

New York City was on the cusp of autumn, and already it was growing dark and cold throughout the streets. It looked more like winter. Already it had snowed once, blanketing the roads and the trees for a few pure hours. Now it was just bitterly cold.

Gregor skidded to a stop. His chest heaved, cold air rushing painfully into his lungs. He rubbed his arms.

The entrance to Central Park loomed over him.

xxxxxx

Ari couldn't fly.

She stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, feet bare, gripping the slate tiles. Wind buffeted her hair and kissed her cheek.

Focus.

She had been researching this for months. Reading about physics: how planes were able to fly, how hang-gliders moved. Most of all, how birds flew.

It was a delicate subject. Nature had crafted their biology with a deft hand, constructing a skeleton that weighed next to nothing, keeled breastbones, a heart strong enough to pump oxygen through creatures designed for the air. Every species of bird was so distinct that if you tried to transplant one pair of wings to another, it would fail. They were living shrines to sacred geometry, a harmony of bound sinew and feathers that defied gravity.

Humans had never been meant to fly. They weighed so much. Every part of them - that paradoxical brain, cumbersome digestive system, strong legs - was unwitting ballast that kept them earthbound, not airborne.

And here she was, too human, not human enough.

Her wings at their full extent were nearly fifteen feet long. Years of constricting them had made it hard for her to hold them out that far, but still, Ari tried. They were massive, but eerily light as she carefully flexed them. She had done the math. If she could build up the right amount of muscle, practice harder - then, maybe. Maybe it could work.

Focus.

She flapped, once, tentatively, feeling every muscle. The wind's teeth made them ache; they were so sensitive, so unused to being in the open air. She grimaced, tensing her shoulders, feeling the bundled muscles in her keeled breastbone tighten.

This could be it.

She flapped again, harder, pushing the cold air down. Dust and debris swirled around her feet. She crouched down, trying to imagine her body as a coiled spring, hollow and weightless - lighter than air.

Airborne.

And, for a moment, it almost happened. Ari jumped into the air, her wings stroking down, and she felt lift. Harder. Her breath heaved in and out; her oversized heart sped up, pumping fast and loud.

And then she was in the air.

For just the barest moment, everything worked perfectly. She was flying; she was doing what she had always dreamed of doing, every night.

It was biology that failed her. The inherent cumbersome weight of her all-too-human body pulled her down again, shifting the balance enough that she tumbled through the air. Ari's wings snapped shut, and she clawed at the air with her fingers, trying to find purchase as she slid down the slanted roof.

It wasn't enough.

Ari slammed against the rooftop, her breath pushed out of her lungs, her mind screaming in wordless terror.

She fell.

Sorry for such a short chapter; I'm travelling to Istanbul soon and am very busy. Reviews are highly appreciated! :) Thank you.