They had the three of us put in separate rooms in the Hall of Justice, with guards at the doors to keep us from trying to escape.

We had plenty of Guardians who were stationed in Eight on a year-round basis, and nobody liked them, but at least they weren't as bad as they could've been. The Elite in charge of the District Eight Guardians—an Earth Pony named Ironshod—was relatively decent, for a Guardian. She kept her troops under strict discipline, and kept them from trying to take more food than their fair share, or throwing their weight around to extort other things out of us. Of course, she also was strict about any of the District Eight ponies trying to hide food. If we were under quota, we could undergo discipline, but if we had an unusually good harvest... well, then Canterlot got the extras. There were specific rules for exactly how much of each crop we were allowed to keep. If you hid any, the Guardians were allowed to execute you, though last time that happened, the pony who'd done it got away with a flogging.

I remembered, though, that during the Parasprite year, when she was overseeing us loading up the apples for Canterlot, that she hadn't ordered the troops to search the premises like every other year. I wished we'd actually tried to hide something, but none of us had the courage.

I didn't recognize any of the Guardians here now. They were probably all from Canterlot. I got the feeling that the Canterlot Guardians were even more disciplined, and less willing to be lenient, which was saying something. I had no intention of trying to run away, at any rate. If I did, at best, they'd find and catch me, and at worst, they'd catch me, execute me, and send Applebloom to the Hunger Games.

I'd chosen this. I didn't regret it.

But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared out of my wits.

I tried to hide it when the Guardians let in Granny Smith, Applebloom, and Big Mac to see me.

"You've got five minutes," said the pegasus Guardian, leaving the door open.

Applejack flung herself at me, wrapping her forelegs around my neck. "You can't go, Applejack! You just can't!" she sobbed. "I can't lose you, too!"

"Hey now, sugarcube," I said, patting her hair. "Hey. I'm coming back, okay? I promise I'll do my best to come back home to ya'll."

Applebloom sniffled into my mane. "Y'promise?"

"Cross my heart," I said. "I'll give it all I got." I held her as tight as I could, and looked over at Big Mac and Granny.

"I love you all more than anything else in the world," I said, choking up in spite of myself."

"Oh, sweetie pie," said Granny, coming over to join us, followed by Big Mac. We held each other as tightly as if we never meant to let go.

Big Mac, steady as always, said, "We'll look after the farm until you get back."

"I know you will," I said. "I... I'm sorry I won't be around to finish the harvest."

"That's all right," said Big Mac. "Don't you worry about it. Just focus on keeping yourself alive."

"I will," I said. "I'm coming home, fast as I can."

We stayed like that, close as we could get, until the Guardian from before poked his head in and said that time was up.

Big Mac had to pull Applebloom off me. She started to cry again, and I thought I could see Big Mac trying to hold back tears as well, for Applebloom's sake.

I'm sorry, I thought. I would have given anything to keep from causing them pain.

But that was ridiculous. This wasn't my doing, not one bit of it. It was Canterlot.

I sighed, and flopped down on the bed, trying not to start crying myself. I had to hold it together, if I wanted to have any chance at all.

I didn't have much of one, but still, out of seventy-three Hunger Games, a District Eight champion had won four. Most victories went to the richer Districts, the ones that trained up ponies specifically for the Games. It wasn't technically allowed, but Canterlot pretended not to notice the training schools that everyone knew existed, as long as those schools were in Districts that were judged sufficiently loyal.

Districts One and Two were the main ones who did that sort of thing. District One tended to spend the most time and effort on its unicorns, and District Two its pegasi. I'd heard rumors that District Three was making some tentative motions towards starting a school for Careers, which would mean that we'd start seeing some Careers from a more earth pony-heavy district. Just as well for me if the rumors were false, but given how unlucky I'd been so far...

The door opened again.

"Three minutes," said the Guardian as Carrot Top walked in. Her real name was Golden Harvest, but everyone called her Carrot Top on account of her orange hair. Her family had a farm near ours, and they raised carrots and turnips.

"Hey," she said, quietly. She shifted from one hoof to another.

"Hey," I said, back.

Silence reigned for a few awkward seconds before Carrot Top spoke up again. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry that this happened, and you were very brave, and I want you to know that my family will do what we can to help yours. So you don't need to worry about it."

I blinked a few times. Normally, I didn't like to ask for outside help, but right now... I was right grateful for the offer. Big Mac could probably handle things on his own, but it would still be a load off my mind to know he could find someone to lend a helping hoof, if need be. Of course the extended Apple family would offer help if asked, but they ran apple farms all over District Eight, and would have their own harvests to tend to.

"That's... mighty kind of you," I said. "Thank you very much."

Carrot Top smiled weakly. "You'd do the same for us, I know."

"Yeah. I guess."

It didn't seem like either of us could think of anything to say after that, so we sort of looked at each other, then the walls, then back at each other.

"Well," said Carrot Top, "Good luck."

"Thanks," I said. "Good luck to you too. With the harvest, I mean."

I envied her with all of my heart—she was going to get to go back to the earth and the fields, and even if the work was hard, it was survivable.

She lowered her eyes. "Goodbye," she said, leaving.

The door closed. "Goodbye," I answered quietly, not so much to her as to everything I'd ever known.

I laid down on the bed, curled up on my side, waiting for them to finish whatever preparations they were making for the trip to Canterlot and load me and the other two Tributes up.

.ooo.

There was a crowd at the train station to see us off, but I barely got a glimpse of anyone as the Guardians herded Lyra, Honeysuckle and me onto the train. As soon as we were on, I looked out the window to see if I could catch one last glimpse of my family, but I couldn't see them in the crowd. I waved anyways.

Then the train began to move, and District Eight started to slide away, so I left the window.

Gingerbread, as chipper as ever, showed up shortly thereafter. She told us that our rooms were two cars down, clearly labelled, and that she was certain we'd all like to take an hour and a half to settle in and freshen up before it was time for dinner.

The three of us Tributes looked at each other, and headed in the direction Gingerbread had pointed. Sure enough, there were three rooms, all next to each other, each with a square metal cut-out on the door-one unicorn, one pegasus, one earth pony.

"I guess this was where Amethyst stayed last year," said Lyra, quietly.

I thought back to last year's Tributes—the unicorn, Amethyst Star; the pegasus, Thistledown; and the earth pony, Rye. I hadn't known any of them all that well, for which I was grateful. Amethyst, I recalled, had been killed the second day of the Games; Thistledown had gotten taken down by some flying spellbeasts not too long after; and Rye had made it into the last six competitors—enough to give some of us hope that we might have a Victor that year—before getting stabbed to death by a pair of unicorn Careers.

"It might not be the same train," Honeysuckle pointed out.

That wasn't a huge help. Even if this wasn't the exact same train that Amethyst, Thistledown, and Rye had ridden to their deaths, it had still brought plenty of doomed ponies to Canterlot.

I pushed open the door to my room and took a couple steps inside.

It was ridiculously plush. From the heavy carpet beneath my hooves that almost seemed to suck me in, to the thick red comforter and the way-too-many pillows on the bed, to the velvet-upholstered chair in front of the vanity-it was all more luxurious than anything I'd seen in my life.

And it was all for me. A pony that, odds were, wouldn't live to see many more sunrises.

I guessed it only made sense to make the most of it, yet I couldn't help but feel kind of guilty. It wasn't really sensible, but I looked at this room, and all I could see was enough money to keep my family's bellies full for a year, with plenty of pie to go around. Was the frame of the mirror made of real silver? Were the curtains silk? I couldn't tell for sure, but I wouldn't bet against it.

The whole point of the Hunger Games was to show the Districts who was in charge. Maybe this was just another way of showing it—letting us know that while we worried about having enough to eat, Canterlot had enough bits to afford every luxury for both its residents and the Tributes it brought for the residents' entertainment.

Though if that were so, it didn't seem all that effective, given that I probably wouldn't survive long enough for the message to really sink in.

I shook my head. I had to stop thinking like that. Sure, my odds weren't good, but they were probably better than some. I had to quit thinking like a dead pony and start trying to plan. I'd promised I'd do what I could to come home to my family, so I needed to start right now.

I started by walking back out of my room to see if I couldn't find our mentor.

Cheerilee didn't get out much. She mostly stayed in her house at the Victor's Village. I heard she had a deal with somebody to get food and salt delivered to her front door once a week. I only ever saw her on Reaping Day, where she stared dully at the audience throughout the whole thing and left as soon as possible.

But she was going to be our mentor, all three of us, since she was the only Victor from District Eight that was still alive. She'd know what would give us all the best chance of survival. It was her job to help us out, right?

I found another set of rooms the next car down, though these weren't labelled. The first door I knocked on didn't seem to have anyone behind it, but at the second I found Cheerilee.

"What do you want?" she asked. "Gingerbread send you to get me?"

"Um, no. I just... wanted to introduce myself, I guess. Maybe see if you had any useful advice before we get to Canterlot," I replied.

She snorted. "I know who you are, and you know who I am, so introductions aren't really necessary. As for advice-don't gorge yourself too much at dinner. Canterlot food's rich enough to make you sick if you're not used to it." She started to close the door, but I held a hoof out to stop her.

"I meant I want to know what to expect, when we get to Canterlot," I said.

"Expect ponies who don't give a road apple about the little ponies they watch die every year. Expect ponies who have more money than they know that to do with and throw their bits around at stupid things just to show they can. Expect too many lights and frills and crystals. Now leave me alone." She pushed my hoof away and slammed the door.

I had the feeling that Cheerilee was just as antisocial as she'd seemed all those years back in District Eight.

But curse it all, I expected at least some help from the pony who was supposed to be our mentor!

I snorted, frustrated, then headed back to my room until it was time for supper.

.ooo.

Cheerilee doesn't know why the earth pony even bothered asking. All three of the tributes are going to die. Hopefully quickly, for their sake and hers. Cheerilee has to watch the Games until all three of her ponies are dead. Two years back, they all were gone before day three, and so Cheerilee went back to her quarters and binged on salt until she couldn't remember the Games even existed, and especially couldn't remember that the little unicorn that year had reminded her of Clementine.

But all three of the Tributes were on the older side, this year, so that was something.

She washes down her salt with a swig of water and tries not to think about the days to come.