Rye had woken . silently gripping the knife in his hand where his head rested. The sound of the bag was scraping along the floor sent a flood of adrenaline pounding through his ears.. His heart nearly stopped when his precious soda can clattered to the stone floor. He had frozen, trying to see without moving his head or body, trying to decide if the spider mutts were back. At the quiet patter of feet, he bolted to his feet in one smooth move and was on top of the thief in a flash. A crowbar came up to graze his head, but Rye was quick, knocking it loose.  Survival was becoming  a honed response and he rammed his considerable weight against the solid opponent . His knife was pressed to a strong neck, pressed so tight, a bead of blood trickled from the knife tip. The intruder went stock still and Rye looked into a set of deep chocolate brown eyes. Eyes almost familiar enough to cause him to lose his grip on the hilt. Eyes that reminded him of home.<br/><br/>Rye's breath was coming in huffing gasps now, his hands trembling, whether from wanting to plunge in the knife, to feel the warm blood flood over his hands, or trembling from the exertion to not take a life. The face, a girl's face, swam into view. Her skin was like the maple sap that ran from the trees in the early spring. She was built as solid as any tree in District 7 and his primitive brain noticed her ample soft breasts under his chest. A ping in the back of his brain sent the image of where he had met her.<br/><br/>During the brief training session, he had been in a hurry to get away from Z, so much in a hurry that he had failed to notice a girl storming through the atrium. They both arrived at the narrow door at the same time. Normally Rye would have stood back to let her through, not because she was female but because, he typically yielded to anyone who was smaller than him. She was, even though she wasn't a small girl. She had broad shoulders, luscious breasts, although bound with a wide band for the training exercises, they were rounded over the top of the band and gleaming with sweat. What Rye had noticed most, what had stuck in his mind about her was her ass. His fingers had itched to hold each round globe. He shook his head. Becoming aroused here would do nothing but distract him from the task at hand, living one more day.<br/><br/>"You! " he expostulated, "are the others with you?" When she didn't answer fast enough, he pressed her harder against the wall and took a firmer grip on the knife. "You better talk now before your throat is no longer connected to your mouth." He gritted his teeth, fighting down the urge to grab her braids and kiss her. Her lips were plump and deep pink. Suddenly Rye was so sick of this fighting. He wanted something soft and warm, someone that clung to him and had his back. 'You better start talking." he growled, to cover his gentler inclination.