Rye watched dispassionately as the new boy fought with Stark. The newcomer did little to relieve his need to protect Emery. When Stark rose from the mass of bone and blood that his head had become, Rye realized that this Hunger Games had a new twist. This twist was different than any other before. Some how, Stark was, the word defied Rye's brain and then when he counterattacked the boy, the word came flooding in. He was a mutt, not unlike the spiders. Rye raced through the field, almost to Emery when a body tackled him from the side.<br/><br/>The footing here was treacherous, going down a hill and the unexpected rush bowled him over. Rye flew back as the girl wrapped her arms around him. He felt a knife in his side, but his body was thick with muscle and some fat  so it didn't penetrate to any vital organs. It burned like a fire brand, he thought, as he clapped both hands hard over the ears of his assailant. She released him to block this attack and dropped at his feet.<br/><br/>Rye recognized the girl who had gone into the tent with Stark. She had bruises on her face, around her eyes and a split lip, but all of those but the split lip looked to be old wounds. It was her eyes that got to Rye. Once he had tracked a mother bobcat to her den. She had been monstrously dangerous because she was wounded, limping, blind in one eye, yet she had fought to defend her litter.  Rye understood the look in this girl's eyes, understood but was not moved to compassion or reason. He had made his decisions.<br/><br/>This time, Rye stood, taking out his long knife and began to take the fight to the girl. She lunged at him, grazing his arm, which once again burned like the fires of hell but Rye just flicked off the blood, parried, his reach and the size of the knife, almost a sword,gave him advance.  The tip of the steel gashed her pretty face, slicing a macabre smile across her cheek.<br/><br/>Suddenly, grim sounds of fighting and shouting penetrated his hearing. Finally, the effect from the bomb was wearing off some. The words were indistinct but caused him to glance up toward Emery. Realizing that he didn't have the leisure to find out what the hell this girl was thinking to be with Stark the way she obviously had been, Rye went in for the kill. She fought with the intensity of that bobcat, using her feet, head and knees as well as that nasty little blade. The damned thing had caught him in his knee and he was having some trouble being as coordinated as he usually was. He stumbled and she was on him in a flash. In a desperate attempt to keep her from stabbing him while he was down, Rye raised his arm and knocked her sprawling.<br/><br/>Wiping the blood from his eyes, Rye lurched to his feet, looking for his opponent. She lay not far from him, face down. Rye straddled her and pulled her head back to finish the job but she was motionless, eyes fixed. Rye nudged her with his foot, her arm flopped with the movement. The knife was buried to the hilt in her chest. Rage flowed smoothly over Rye as he viewed the fixed face. He jerked the knife loose and used it to slit her throat for good measure. He took the knife, still sticky with the girl's blood. He would use it to finish Stark with. The girl had wanted to be with that ass so much, the least he could do was mingle their blood in death.<br/><br/>Emery stood not far away now, Rye thought, as he moved toward her in the field.