Okay, this should be interesting... I'm still writing for Harry Potter, but this story has been galloping around in my head since I read the Hunger Games last November. Hopefully people like it... there will be a few cameos of known characters, and one in particular, but I thought it would be interesting to explore the other victor of District Twelve. Katniss does say that they have had two. So here we go! Drop a review if you like it or have any comments - I always read reviews with eager abandon.


My breath is as light as feathers, scarcely visible in the cool air. I pinch the point of my knife oh so delicately between my forefinger and my thumb before launching it in a sharp flash at the wild dog that is lurking at a pile of entrails I've left for it. It barely has time to issue a swift yelp before it dies, the tip of the well-honed knife lodged in its brain. I leap up from my hiding spot in the bushes and run to my kill, smiling slightly. I will eat well tonight.

I butcher the carcass quickly, keeping one of the choice portions for myself and my family. I wrap the dog steaks up in cloth and tuck them away into my satchel before burying the bones and inedible bits of the dog. I make my way back to the fence and slip under it, grateful the electricity had been cut out earlier that day. I had left immediately when the lights flickered out in school, claiming the need to relieve myself, and I hadn't stopped moving until I reached the forest.

I am lucky that they haven't fixed it yet. The fence will be humming again soon, I have no doubts about that. It has taken me longer than I would have liked to hunt down the wild dog. Dogs aren't normally what I like to hunt, but I hadn't found any signs of deer or any other large game, and my family needs the money. Plus, meat on a dog isn't that bad. Carnivores don't taste as good as herbivores, but they certainly aren't as bad as the food the Capitol decides to grace us with.

I stride down the streets and turn a certain few corners before arriving at the old warehouse and ducking inside it. It is dusty and dark, flakes of coal floating on the air. I stifle a sneeze as I make my way to the back of the warehouse, lifting heavy drapes as I go. A few dark faces look at me and then relax slightly as I go past their booths. I end up at a table with a young woman behind it. "Afternoon, Saedie," I greet her.

She flashes a grin at me, bright in the darkness. "What you got for me today, Tam?" That's my name, or at least that's what people call me here. My mother always calls me Tamarack, which is absolutely ridiculous in my opinion. I put up with it for her sake. My older brother calls me Tammie, which is even worse.

I open my satchel and deposit some dog meat on her table. "Fresh dog." Saedie wrinkles her nose but sighs and passes me some coins. I nod my thanks and make my way out of the dismal warehouse and back to my house as dusk falls.

"Where were you?" My brother, Morel, asks me.

"Hunting," I reply, fishing out the last two dog steaks I have saved for us. He gives me a scrap of a smile. Morel isn't showy with his feelings often, but I know he loves me fiercely. My mother is the same – we are not an emotional family, especially when out in public, truth be told. My father was killed six years ago by the Peacekeepers for poaching, and ever since then we have kept our emotions locked away except with each other.

My mother doesn't like me hunting because of what happened. But then again, it's only because Dad gave himself up that we even still have her with us. She is the one who taught me to throw my knives, and while Morel and I were growing up she would tell us stories of her and father's hunting exploits. We always had meat on the table growing up, which is more than many families can say. When my father was executed Morel started going hunting, but he never had the knack for it I did. I soon became the one who would sneak out in the pale hours before morning and check if the fence was on. Usually it was, so I would have to use a secret way out.

There is a tunnel that was constructed around the time I was born, seventeen years ago. My father helped work on it, which is the only reason I know about it. Several of the mining families here in District Twelve decided that they were sick and tired of only eating tesserae grain and whatever else they could barely afford, and they dug a tunnel in the basement of an abandoned house. One of the families' sons moved in there when he got married, and it is a safe route out of the fence that we may use whenever we like. Most of us poachers try not to use it though, because then the Peacekeepers will grow suspicious. You never know who is watching, and the last thing you want is to be seen coming out of a house no one saw you going in to.

The tunnel is strong and well-built. We're miners here in Twelve – we know how to build tunnels to last. It is a last resort, but it's always nice to know that it's there. Once I got older though, I stopped using it as much. Better to risk my own neck than to get anyone else involved.

Morel cooks one of the thick dog steaks in a pan over the fire. I do some of my homework, my own dog laying his head on my leg while I sit on the floor. His name is Coal, and he's an old dog. My father brought him home a few days before I was born and Coal has been with me since then. His muzzle is frosted white, and I know it is unlikely that he will survive the winter. His joints are stiff and it's hard for him to jump on my bed at nights. It is a miracle that he has lived this long, but I think it's because he's always had a steady supply of meat. Morel throws him a scrap of a rabbit that I knifed down three days ago and coal snaps it up happily.

We sit down to eat in silence. None of us say what's on everyone else's mind – Reaping tomorrow. Morel is nineteen and therefore too old to be sent to the Capitol as a tribute, but I'm only seventeen. I've taken out tesserae just like every other kid in the Seam does. My name is in the Reaping ball twenty-four times, and both my mother and my brother are scared for each one of those slips of paper. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared as well, but it still seems unlikely I will be chosen. My name is in the ball twenty-four times, but I know kids who have over fifty slips with their name. I know kids with fewer too, of course, but I am one of the luckier ones. I only have tesserae for my mother, my brother, and myself. Some of my classmates have many more siblings than I do. Some of them have older relatives and both their parents.

When it comes down to it, I don't feel all that nervous.

I fall asleep in the small room I share with Morel, Coal's back pressed up against my chest. He's a welcome warmth in the dark, cold night. It's unusually cold for this time of year, but my mother is a clothmaker and we have never gone wanting for blankets or decent clothing. I help bring in money and meat with my poaching, my mother sells cloth to those that can afford it, and Morel works in the mines. We all contribute and we have a good life. We seldom go to bed hungry, although there is always room for more food in our bellies.

We are better off than most, and I know this. Morel knows it too, and my mother, and sometimes I think even Coal knows it. He burrows under the blanket, shaggy black fur tickling my sides. I smile and wrap the blanket around both of us, falling asleep quickly.

When I wake, my mother has already prepared breakfast. She saves money all year to be able to do things for us on special days, such as our birthdays or Reaping days. This morning, there is the scent of bacon as I open my eyes. I nudge Coal and once he smells it he hurries to the kitchen. I dress and follow him.

Morel is sitting at the table already as Mother serves out the bacon and fresh bread made with real wheat, not tesserae grain. She puts a tiny pot of honey on the table as well, and Morel and I exchange glances. I don't know how much that cost her. I don't think I want to know. Mother sits down with a slight smile at the two of us, and I can see the worry in her eyes as she looks at me. She is beautiful, our mother. She has the classic Seam features that she passed down to us, but her cheekbones are sculpted and defined and her eyes are bright blue-green. Her hair is soft and shiny and black as night, and it seems that there is never a strand out of place.

People tell me I have her look, but if I do then I'm still growing into it. Blue-green eyes are a rarity here, but Morel and I both have them. Mother told us once that they were passed down from her father, a man from District Four. I have never met him and I know I never will. Mother hasn't seen him since before the Dark Days either, and she was scarcely my age then. Her mother was from here, while her father was from a land by the sea. My grandfather stayed to fight the Capitol, mother tells me, but made my grandmother take my mother and go back to where she was born, back to the mines of Twelve.

She tells Morel and I that the lands weren't always divided like they are now. It seems like it has always been this way, and she never talks about the times before the Dark Days except when we're alone. She used to tell me stories of fishermen and mermaids, the children's stories she was raised on. Tales of lands under the seas and beyond the horizon. I can't imagine them. I've never seen the sea. Mother made sure I knew how to swim. There's a lake outside the fence that she would sneak Morel and I out to sometimes, and she would tell us to imagine that the water went on forever and tasted of salt.

I shake my head and look to the present. It is time for us to go down to the Reaping now, and my mother slicks my hair back into a tail, then picks out sections and braids them around it, securing my long, heavy hair as it falls down my back. She takes out a wooden comb and detangles it gently. I am dressed in a dark green dress with trim around the neck made of a piece of faded navy silk. The combination of the two colors awakes all the color in my eyes, she tells me. It is gathered at the waist and then falls in soft pleats to my ankles. My mother makes beautiful clothing.

My brother and I flank our mother as we make our way down to the town square. There are pens roped off for the eligible tributes and I stand in the one with the other girls my age. We all wear our finest clothes, but I note with pride that the dress my mother made is lovelier than most of the other girl's dresses, including the merchant's children.

I stand stock-still, like a deer uncertain of danger, as the other girls press close to me. My hunting has made me wary and swift, and I feel ready to spring away at the first hint of danger. That's stupid though. The danger is in front of us, in the large glass balls on the raised platform in the square. For the first time, I start to feel slightly nervous. Some of the girls are crying already, especially the younger ones.

Our Capitol representative is already on the stage, smiling happily at the lot of us. She has skin the color of a baby's spanked bottom, I think, but of course I don't say it, even though people aren't supposed to be that pink. Her hair is dark purple and it shines a deep violet in the weak sunlight, but that at least is kind of pretty.

Mayor Benter reads the histories and the Treaty of Treason, but no one really pays attention. There's a sad silence when he declares that we have had no previous victors and makes a depressing joke about how that should change this year. Our representative takes to the podium finally, to say what we all are desperate to hear, to release us from the agonizing wait.

"Welcome!" She chirps to the gathered crowd. "I know you hear me speak to you every year, but my name is Ilia Evace, and I am your District Twelve representitive! I am here to help select your tributes for the Twenty-Ninth Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Silence greets her proclaimation. None of us care, not really. We're worried and scared for ourselves or our children, and we just want it to be over. She clears her throat and nods to herself, then moves towards the boy's Reaping ball. "Let's get on with it then! The young man chosen to represent your district is..." she pauses for dramatic effect and then draws a name with a flourish, clearing her throat. "Gerom Hill!"

A boy a year older than me steps forward slowly, ducking under the rope of his tribute pen. He looks resigned and slightly angry, but smooths his expression over easily as he takes the stage. There are subdued claps for him and I can see a woman crying silently. I don't know Gerom Hill well. He's a year above me in school and is quiet. He stands on the stage and I can imagine the crowds in the Capitol going wild. He's bulging with muscle from hauling livestock around – at least I think that's what he does. Whenever I go to the butcher he's there working in the pens behind the shop.

Ilia goes to the other Reaping ball and I feel a twitch of fear. "Are there any volunteers to take Gerom Hill's place?" She waits for half a minute and I listen to the wind. "No? Then let's move on. The lovely young lady chosen for your district is..." she does that irritating pause again and I remain completely still. "Milla Clearwater!"

A cry of anguish is quickly stifled, but it echoes in my mind. A young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, walks forward slowly, almost tripping over her own feet. She struggles to jump onto the stage before Gerom lifts her up. I'm surprised, as is the rest of the crowd. There are murmurs and the cry of sadness still sounds in my skull. I don't know why. I wasn't chosen. There are whispers of relief among the girls I'm standing with.

Milla Clearwater stands on the stage looking pitifully small. Gerom looks like a statue, the image of what a tribute should be. Milla is hunched over and clearly terrified. Ilia beams out at us, asking quickly, "Are there any volunteers to take Milla Clearwater's place?" She waits again and for a few seconds there's silence.

This is wrong. Milla is silent and I can see tears pouring down her face. She won't come home and everyone know it. She's a Seam kid like me, dark hair and olive skin, and I'll never see her again except on the television that we're forced to watch for the Games. I can hear the cry from earlier as though it were still going, on and on in my mind, and suddenly I'm ducking under the rope. "I volunteer!" I call out.

I know he's far away from me, but I can almost hear Morel's groan, and I can picture him turning to my mother and hugging her tightly. "I volunteer," I repeat, leaping onto the stage lightly. I move like a hunting wolf, I know I do. My father used to tell me that even when I was young, I had a way about me, an animalistic grace. I can imagine the Capitol crowds wondering about that, about the way I move, why I volunteered.

I stop in front of Milla and kneel down to look at her. She's staring at me with hope and fear in her grey eyes, praying that I actually mean it. "Go home, sweetheart," I murmur to her. I stand up again and take my place next to Gerom, who gives me a sidelong look. Milla scrambles off the stage so quickly that it breaks my heart. An older woman runs to her and presses her close in her arms, then meets my eyes in a silent thanks. I twitch my lips slightly and then the moment is broken by Ilia hurrying up to me. "Oh my goodness!" She crows excitedly. "What's your name?"

"Tamarack Rory," I say.

"Well Tamarack Rory, you are the first volunteer ever for your District! This promises to be an exciting Hunger Games! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes – Gerom Hill and Tamarack Rory!" There's more quiet applause and then we are ushered through the crowd into the Justice Building after the anthem plays. I am put into a room with soft carpets and lavish chairs, but I stand in the middle of the room rather than sit down.

Soon enough, Morel and my mother come in. They both grab me in a hug and we stand there together for a few minutes, breathing in each other's scents and taking comfort in the fact that this is the last time we will be together. "I am so proud of you," my mother eventually whispers in my ear.

I look at her out of the corner of my eye, confusion evident in my glance. "Oh my sweet I love you so much and I don't want to lose you. But what you did for that girl's family is the bravest thing I have ever seen, and the most selfless. And that makes me so proud to be your mother."

"Mom's right," Morel murmurs in my other ear. "Tammie... I'll take care of Coal, don't worry about that. And... and try and stay safe." It's an empty sentiment and he seems irritated that he brought safety up. "I love you." He says huskily instead of trying to say anything else.

I press my face into both of their shoulders. "I love you too." I don't promise to try and come back. They don't ask me to. Soon enough the Peacekeepers return and we separate. As I am escorted out the door and to the waiting train I look back at them, blue-green eyes meeting blue-green eyes, and I mouth I love you one more time. My mother blows me a kiss and my brother simply looks at me, and that's all I need to know.

The cameras roll as the train slowly pulls away from the station. They close the door and I watch through a window as the fence flashes by and then we are engulfed by trees, heading west into the slowly lowering sun. We're going faster than I have ever traveled, but I've never even been in a car before. I am shown to a room that is larger than the main room in my house back home. The drawers are filled with clothes but I ignore them, instead washing my face using a stream of hot water from the tap. That's also strange – back home we have to heat the water if we want it hot.

I go down to supper soon after that. There is lots of food, but I end up only eating a grilled steak of real beef, not wild dog or rabbit or deer, and about half a loaf of bread. The other food seems too rich. Gerom sits across from me, eating some kind of stew and scraping the bowl clean with the other half-loaf of bread. Ilia smiles perkily at us, then ushers us into another car to watch the recap of the Reapings across the country.

I know I should observe my competition and I try. There's a girl as lovely as the sun from District 1. She volunteers and I know she's made a career out of the Hunger Games. There are people like that, but they're hard for those of us that live in the poorer districts to imagine. Siblings from District 11. I wonder if the Gamemakers did that on purpose. It's supposed to be completely random, but sometimes things happen that make it seem planned. Whenever there's a child of a victor (this has only happened to three tributes, but they're the only victor kids) they are drawn. Usually around the age of fifteen or sixteen. They don't have better luck or anything, but the Capitol goes crazy for them and they get showered with gifts in the arena.

The girl from Nine and a twelve year old boy from Five cry on the stage. Finally, it is time to show our Reaping and I perk up slightly, wondering how it looks on camera. Gerom is chosen on the screen and I dart a sideways look at him. He is passive and I'm starting to wonder if he has any emotions. That's not fair and I know it, but when he meets my eye his lips twitch and he gives me a tiny nod.

I volunteer on the screen and the announcers immediately start to comment. Who am I? What is Milla to me? Is she a friend of the family? What would possess me to volunteer? They end by commenting how difficult it will be for Gerom and I to manage without a mentor. Apparently our gifts will be chosen by one of the Gamemakers by the name of Mirador Gensing. I don't know the name.

As I start to head back to my room to sleep, Gerom grabs my arm and drags me along the length of the train. I don't fight him. I don't know what he wants but as soon as we get to the back of the train he opens three windows and the sound is almost deafening.

"Why did you do it?" He demands, staring at me with his light grey eyes. They're almost luminous, the moon outside shining on them.

I am silent for some time, but he waits patiently. "Because she's a child," I say slowly. "She deserves to grow up and live her life. She has done nothing to deserve death in the arena."

"And you have?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "No. I don't deserve death in the arena either. I'm a child too. So are you, however much you may pretend otherwise. We stand more of a chance than little children though, and I will not watch a child be slaughtered and know that I could have done something about it."

"You have for years. What's different now?"

I shrug. "Enough is enough." I don't know where this almost-rebellious talk has come from. Maybe it's been steeping for years since my father was killed trying to help put food on the table for my family. Maybe it's the sheer injustice of a child being forced to go to her death for the entertainment of the denizens of the Capitol. Whatever it is, it's making me speak up. I'm only glad no one can hear but Gerom.

He gives me a hunting smile, a wolf smile. "Enough is enough."

"What are you going to do about it?" I challenge him.

"I'm going to show them that they can't take me."

I look at him for further explanation. There's a light in his eyes that disturbs me. "Before we reach the Capitol tomorrow, I'll be gone. I'm leaving."

"You think they're just going to let you walk away?" I can't help but laugh.

He snickers along with me. "Of course not. I'm going to jump."

I feel my mouth fall open slightly. "And you," he continues, "you go on and win. Our kids need a mentor, not some different low-level, boot-licking Gamemaker every year who only wants to advance his position. Don't win for me, don't do it for you, or your family, or to prove something – do it because those kids back home, and all the ones we've sent before, they don't have a snowball's chance in a fire without a mentor." He's so intense it scares me before I realize something.

He's right. Ours is the only district at this point that doesn't have a mentor for its tributes and we're notoriously bad. I start to speak before he bulls over me. "And you need to win, so don't take any shit from any one. If your stylist tells you to wear some ridiculous thing and makes you look like trash, you fix it. If the Gamemaker doesn't send you anything, you steal what you need, you fight for it tooth and nail, and you win. You do everything you need to, because our kids don't have a hope without you."

"Why don't you?" I finally shoot at him. "Why me?"

He gives me that smile again. "Because I'm not a survivor. I know you poach. I know you have skills to survive, and I don't. You can last and you can get home. And I'm too passionate, I know that. I would say something that would make them try and kill me."

"And you think I won't?" I don't know where this sudden plan has come from, but I can feel in my gut that it's right, that it's the thing that I have to do, that it's what's going to get me through these Games.

He shakes his head. "No. You will do whatever it takes."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you will." I don't know if that's enough, but then I realize that's he's right again – I will do whatever it takes now that I have a plan. If I can bring our kids (that's what Gerom called them and that's right too, I just know it) home then I will have succeeded, then I will have truly won the Hunger Games.

"Okay," I whisper. His eyes are afire as he looks down about six inches at me, then he presses a quick kiss to my lips. It's unexpected and shoots warmth from my head to my toes, but then he's gone.

I never see Gerom Hill again. I spend the morning in the company of Ilia and some attendants as we pull closer to the Capitol. She dispatches people to find Gerom and they don't, which sends the train into a mild panic. I claim a chair in the car with huge panes of glass from floor to ceiling and watch as we enter a tunnel and then light spills out onto me when we exit. I feel the train begin to slow and I walk over to one of the windows as Ilia rushes frantically by me. I stare at all the people on the platform, feeling their excited eyes and knowing that they will be shocked when only one tribute emerges.

But I am blameless. I was careful to spend all of this morning around someone else who could vouch for me being there. I heard that Gerom ate breakfast very early that morning, that Ilia had gone to fetch me and then he left. He timed his exit perfectly – there can be no skepticism that I was involved in his disappearance.

The train stops and I descend the stairs alone. The crowds fall momentarily silent and then whispers erupt as I walk the path to the waiting car by myself, my shoes clicking a rhythm on the ground. I make sure to project an air of confidence as I add a slight saunter to my walk, allowing my blue-green eyes to languidly roam the audience. The car door is opened and I slide in like I've been doing it my whole life.

I will win this.