Her blonde hair whips around as she frantically turns her head, just for a moment, towards the source of the noise. They're much closer now. They could be on her within seconds. They're out of sight amongst the roofless buildings and toppled brick-piles, but they're there, and they're gaining on her.
Faster, faster.
She makes a beeline in the other direction as fast as her twisted left ankle allows, haphazardly dodging the multitude of obstacles harboured by the ruins of District 13. Stray bricks, piles of sooty rubble, blackened, fallen columns and the remnants of the foundations of the district's many dwellings litter her surroundings. She resists the urge to throw herself behind or under one of them, bury her head in her arms and hold her breath; she needs to get away from them. Outrun them. Lead them into another tribute. Find a safe haven beyond their reach. The glaring sun dehydrates her; the last time she drank was over a day ago. They crow out to her in the distance, taunting her, joyously screaming their intent into the sky. Run.
They clamber over the wrecked pieces of buildings behind her seconds after she had, only a few metres behind. Panic floods her system and her legs hasten to match her heightened heartbeat. Escape! A sheet of rusted, corrugated iron catches her boot and she trips. Her hands break her fall, and her mishap leaves her palms cut and bleeding. As she scrabbled to stand, to propel herself away from her assailants, a boot lands squarely on the small of her back, pinning her to the dusty ground. She's kicked onto her back and her brilliant blue eyes lock with the huntress' as the axe swings down.
The pack's cheers superimpose on the lonely, hunted child's screams as the axe sinks into her stomach, and miles away in the Capitol, Effie Trinket screams with her, throwing herself to the ground and shrieking in anguish as the life drains from her daughter's body.
The cannon fires.