Bruce and Tim hadn't discussed plans for coming to the feast with Tim, and hadn't honestly expected him, though he was realizing he should have. The mention of 'tools' had been enough to draw Bruce's attention - he had very little equipment here, and he hated being unprepared. His Tim might have forgone it, which was part of why Bruce hadn't expected Tim to come. That was a stupid mistake, this Tim had grown up, and even already, he seemed too much like Bruce. He should have realized. He should have known.

It still shouldn't have been a problem.

Bruce was some little distance away still and watching for traps when the other tributes began climbing the tree, and when he saw him. When he saw him fall. Saw something black and huge move to drag him further into the water.

Bruce abandoned all thoughts of the treehouse, someone else could have whatever was in it - something (a snake?) had Tim, who appeared to be unconscious. Faint spirals of blood were beginning to drag through the water, and that was also bad, there were shapes flashing through it. That was likely very bad.

The snake was writhing - good boy, Tim, good soldier, even under these extreme circumstances he'd hurt it. Bruce himself was, for the first time in the arena, wishing he had a sword, but there was nothing to be done for it now, not with blood and bubbles floating to the surface. Bruce grabbed the sharpest broken plank within a few feet - some long, sharp thing that was too big to be a splinter and too thin to really be called anything else, and lept in after him. Teeth started ripping into him almost immediately.

The water was murky, and even with bright day overhead it was hard to see, harder with the bodies of the fish who were starting to swarm, but the snake was still huge, large enough to make out blurrily, and Tim was pale in its coils. They were already loose, blood was drifting out in sheets - good boy. Bruce shoved his splinter into the giant serpent as hard as he could, and it thrashed. That was enough to loosen it further, just enough.

Bruce grabbed Tim and made for the surface, swimming for the side of the river as fish darted in with teeth like scissors. They were painting the water red, the two of them. Bruce tried to hold Tim as far clear of the water, and its little waiting mouths, as he could. The current made it harder.

The banks were high and steep, artificially constructed - not so much that Bruce couldn't get Tim out, shove him as far from the water as he could reach, but enough to stop him following immediately after when he was half-starved and had however many pounds at this point of fish on him, ripping him to shreds. That delay was his undoing. The snake was injured, but still alive. It grabbed him and it dragged him back into deeper water.

Bruce tried to fight, as the fish tore into him and the snake pulled him deeper. The water wasn't the problem, yet, Bruce could hold his breath for close to five minutes when he was desperate, but there was blood-loss to contend with. His nerves were on fire, he was losing too much blood.

Something hit him in the stomach, maybe the snake, and he lost a great deal of his air.

But by now... it was hard... to care.