It's them or me.
She has long since given up on trying to justify her actions, has stopped feeling guilty about what she needs to do; having no feelings towards the other tributes helps in both cases.
Youth has made him careless in several ways. Firstly signalling to his partner with the call of the whip-poor-will, a nocturnal bird. The sun visible through the high canopy of leaves clearly showing it is not night. In folk lore, the singing of the bird is a death omen. He has used the call and now will make the lore come true. He thinks he is unseen among the small grove of trees. His second mistake. Sandy hair falls over his eyes. Eyes that are darting around, seeing everything, except her standing in the shadows. That is how close she is to him. Mistake number three. The bow string bites at her fingers; she should have released it by now. He stops his scan of the woods and is still for the first time since she saw him. He must be what...only twelve...thirteen? Her left arm lowers slightly with the weight of seeing his innocence.
Same age as Prim. The thought of Prim being out in the arena helped her focus again. Would he hesitate if it was Prim hiding and she was in his sights? Would he hesitate if it was me? she asks herself.
Metal - wood- feather fusion cuts through the air, through tree branches, bone, his heart.
Self Preservation.
xxx