Suzanne Collins is acknowledged as the creator of the Hunger Games characters and story.

Part 1 – The Passion

1:1 - A bad day to lose your trousers.

I must get away … Back to Peeta … Quickly … Cato can't be far away … Oh no! The table is empty! Where's my bag from the Gamemakers?

My mind is working fine, but the rest of me is responding sluggishly. The gash on my forehead from Clove's knife is bleeding profusely. That, coupled with the accumulated injuries I acquired earlier in the Hunger Games, is making me dizzy and disoriented. I must find my bag. This excursion to the Cornucopia will have been a waste of time if I don't return to our cave with the medication Peeta desperately needs.

My mind keeps replaying the last ten minutes over and over again. Clove caught me as I tried to retrieve my bag from the table. She overpowered me and had me at her mercy. I was destined to suffer a slow agonising death under her blade. But she was careless and didn't see Thresh until too late. In less than a minute Thresh had killed Clove and was gone. Although I lay helpless on the ground, he spared my life in full and final repayment for my efforts to help Rue. Well intended efforts on my part, but ultimately futile. Rue died a violent death. A failure on my part which I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. A life which isn't going to last very much longer unless I get away. Now!

I try to stand but with only one good ear I can't keep my balance. I stumble and crawl towards the table. There's no sign of my bag. Nor is there one for Cato. Did Thresh take all three bags when he escaped? … Perhaps. I would have if I were in his position.

Now I've failed Peeta as well as Rue. Peeta will die from his injuries without the medication that must surely have been in that bag. A bag that may as well be sat in the Capitol as in this arena for all the good it will do Peeta and I. I clear the blood away from my eyes so I can check around me. There's still no sign of Cato … What's keeping him? I try to stand again. Big mistake. I lose my balance and crack my head on the table as I fall. Then nothing.

"Here … drink this," comes a voice. Male … but not Peeta's voice. A vaguely familiar voice. I chance opening my eyes … and promptly close them again. Cato! Please, please let this be a bad dream. I open my eyes again, only to confirm this isn't a bad dream … it's a bad reality. I carefully sit up and look around. I'm sat in a makeshift camp near the lake. How I arrived here and why I'm still alive are mysteries for the moment. I'm so thirsty that I take the offered cup from Cato's outstretched arm and drain it before it dawns on me that the contents might be drugged. Too late to worry about that now. Cato has had ample opportunity to kill me while I've been out if he wanted me dead.

I look at Cato, trying to understand what is going on. He is only half watching me … his attention is on the area surrounding us. He must know Peeta is badly injured, so only Thresh and Foxface are potential threats. Of the two, Thresh is by far the more deadly threat. Particularly as he now has three of the four bags provided by the Gamemakers. Each bag labelled with our District number and supposedly contained something each surviving tribute needs. Only Foxface escaped with her bag. How I wish I had thought of her plan to retrieve her bag … so much better than mine.

I feel my head and discover my wound has been cleaned and a dressing placed over the cut. Now I'm even more confused. Only a few days ago Cato would have killed me in an instance. Instead he has carried me to this camp and tended to my head wound.

"What's going on?" I ask, making a move to stand only to realise my ankles are tied together and tethered to a tree. Nothing I couldn't free myself from given time, but not with Cato closely guarding me.

"Be quiet and stay still," snaps Cato in a tone more in character with the Cato I've met before.

I stay still and scan my surroundings for my weapons. My bow and quiver of arrows are now in Cato's possession. The knife I was carrying is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly Cato sees or hears something off to his right. He notches an arrow and takes aim in the direction of a small thicket. A rustling sound confirms the presence of something or someone. We both wait quietly. I know whatever has alerted Cato isn't any form of rescue for me. Cato suddenly lets fly with an arrow in the direction of the thicket. He quickly discards the bow and quiver and draws his sword. He charges the thicket with all the grace of an enraged bull.

The second he charges I start work on loosening my bonds. His knot-work is better than I anticipated and it takes precious minutes to free myself. Eventually I'm free, and I quickly retrieve my bow and quiver. I look towards the thicket but I can't see or hear anything. Too late I realise Cato isn't there … he's behind me. I curse my damaged hearing. I'm sure I would have heard him otherwise. Now what?

"Place the bow and arrows on the ground in front of you and turn around slowly," says Cato.

I could risk notching an arrow and trying to kill him, but I can't be sure how close he is, or whether he has his sword drawn. The fact that he hasn't simply run me through with his sword suggests he still doesn't want to kill me … at least not at this moment. That could give me an extra second or two to act. But curiosity is getting the better of me. Why is he doing this? Is this just an elaborate cat-and-mouse game? A chance to torture me along the lines Clove had in mind. Or is there some deeper motive? I make my decision. I place the bow and quiver on the ground and turn to face him. A let out a sigh of relief when I realise I've made the right choice. He's very close and his sword is drawn ready to kill me had I shown any resistance.

"What are you up to, Cato? Why don't you kill me here and now?" I ask. "You and I know there is no way both of us are going to be allowed to walk from this arena alive."

"I know. But it is also possible neither of us will leave this arena alive. I prefer to improve my odds by offering you a temporary alliance. We dispose of the others together and then, when there is just the two of us remaining, we can fight it out."

I hadn't credited Cato with such an ability to think strategically. Of course the odds will still be stacked heavily in his favour. As soon as he thinks I'm of no further use I can expect a sword in my back. I can't see what I may gain from such an alliance. I'm dead whatever happens. Unless …

"You are thinking 'Can I trust him? Will he kill me the moment I'm of no further use?' aren't you?", says Cato, almost reading my mind.

"Something along those lines … yes," I reply.

"Well, I could say 'on my word of honour' or something similar, but it would be a meaningless promise. Consider your options … I kill you now … or you survive for now and take your chances. That's as good as it gets. Make your choice," he says.

Unfortunately he is right. If I die now then Peeta is as good as dead … not that his odds are looking good either way. But the people back in District 12 would expect me to make every effort to save him.

"Alright, I agree … on condition I keep my bow and arrows," I say.

"Yeah, sure. You're not going to be much help without them. Now remove your trousers."

"What?!"