That night the pack had a new member, much to Clove's annoyance. They only let Abigail in on one condition:
She would help them find and kill Katniss Everdeen.
That part was easy. She had found Katniss a few days ago. It wouldn't take her too long to pick up her trail again.
So she led them through the dense forest, back to where she saw her last.
It took them four hours to reach it so they had plenty of time to chat, not that Abigail did much of the talking. She listened instead, to the sounds of the forest and, vaguely, to the incoherent babbling of Clove and the blonde girl, who Abigail learned was called Glimmer. She also came to realise that her idiotic name reflected her personality as well. Abigail was surprised she had lasted this long.
Granted, she had Clove, Cato and Marvel to defend her but still...why bother? She was going to die sooner or later, why prolong the suffering?
Abigail – if you'll excuse the pun – 'marvelled' over this for a few minutes before stopping beside the stream where she had last saw Katniss.
They spent the night there with Abigail and Cato on guard duty.
They didn't talk much. I guess there was no need to.
Abigail stared at the stars. She heard the mocking jay's call to one another through the trees as the water rolled down the brook, gently clashing against the rocks.
It was peaceful here. Quiet.
Abigail hadn't felt so content in all her life. But she knew it wouldn't last long, nothing ever does.
While she pondered this, Cato gazed at her. He knew those eyes. He had been racking his brain all night in a desperate attempt to remember where he had met her before. He was certain she lived in his district, as vast as it was, he had seen her. Then suddenly he realised.
"The blacksmith." He muttered aloud.
"Excuse me?" asked Abigail.
"The blacksmith," he repeated, "your father's the blacksmith in Asgard. That's where I know you from. You helped forge the swords for the Games."
Abigail cursed under her breath.
Helped? She thought angrily. I made those swords with my bare hands! I slaved for weeks while my so-called father sat in that armchair of his, drunk out of his skull!
"My father is the town's blacksmith, yes, but he doesn't make the swords." Abigail glared at him but Cato only gave her a confused look,
"What do you mean?"
Abigail sighed, "I mean, he-"
"Okay guys, my turn to take watch." interrupted Clove. She appeared out of the night like a wisp of smoke. Even Abigail didn't hear her arrive.
Abigail shook herself and quickly got up from where she had been sitting. She briskly began to walk back to where Marvel and Glimmer were sleeping. She couldn't believe she came so close to telling Cato about her father. What had gotten into her? This was about survival not swapping life stories!
She punched a tree out of frustration on her way back to camp. As she crawled into her sleeping bag, she examined her hand and saw that it was now red, raw and bleeding a little.
She felt her father's voice echo in her head, "Toughen up, weakling. You'll get much worse than this if you don't learn to control yourself!"
She still had the scars from all the beatings she took from that monster. If her father taught her anything it was to never show any sign of weakness, never apologise for the things you've done -as that too, was a sign of weakness- and keep your emotions hidden deep from the rest of the world. Except for anger. Anger was how Abigail learned to fight, to protect herself. Anger was the only thing keeping her alive. She wanted to prove to him that she was better than he was. She was stronger, smarter and better than he was.
She would not fail.