"Do not let me hear

Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,

Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,

Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God.

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire

Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

The houses are all gone under the sea.

The dancers are all gone under the hill."

T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets, "East Coker"

The noise I make clamouring through the woods in the dark would alert anyone.

With each step I try to remind myself of my plan; it takes more effort than it did a little while ago.

However, in time, I remember what I am doing.

I can hear Haymitch's voice, cajoling yet invested.

"You have a plan, boy?" Haymitch had glared at me, his amber drink halfway to his lips.

After the tribute parade, he and I had sat alone on the couches in the District 12 penthouse. Katniss had gone to bed. Effie had left, with Portia and Cinna, all three drunk on their victory of the chariot parade. I couldn't sleep, so I wandered the floor, until I found Haymitch sitting in the quiet.

"Aren't you supposed to be the one giving us plans?" I had responded.

"That depends. You seem smart, and you definitely seem to know what you are doing, I guess. What is your approach? Honestly."

"Do I have to have one?"

"You've got one, whether you are aware of it or not."

"I suppose I'm just trying to survive for as long as possible."

"Survival. No matter what?"

He was testing me.

"That depends." I had retorted.

"Depends on?"

"On what happens in the games, right?"

"You're a coy one, aren't you? You never seem to be sly, yet you're just as vague and protective as she is. Only you're better at hiding it."

"I'm not trying to be coy."

"Then come out with it. What is your real plan here?"

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

"Let's just say I've seen the light...Now out with it."

I paused. Why does everyone want to know what I will do?

"I'm planning on...being me. I don't want to turn into an animal in there."

"Noble idea. But who are you really? You're not an animal?"

"I'm not a killer. I know that about myself."

"You won't last long with that attitude."

"I just mean that I don't want to kill unless I absolutely have to."

"To survive?"

"I suppose, yes."

"Then what are you doing with Katniss?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not blind, boy. Secret conversations in the garden. A kiss after the parade. Holding hands. What's going on? As your mentor, I need to know."

"Nothing. Cinna told us to hold hands."

As I walk down a steep bank, my mind full of Haymitch's voice, I try not to remember her kiss on my cheek. It had stung, but I had been able to think of nothing else but her lips since then.

"Well, boy, it sure looks either you are trying to bait her for the games or you have something else in mind. If either one of these are the case, then I need to know about it. But I will warn you, she's not a fool to be seduced. She's clever. She'll catch wind of it immediately and make you pay for it in the games."

"I'm not baiting her."

"If you are telling the truth, then you're an idiot."

"What do you mean?"

"Peeta...It is foolish to entertain sentiment."

"I'm not sure that I follow..."

"Don't be a damn fool! If you have feelings for her, then try your best to forget them."

"...Why?"

"Because, caring for anyone in the games will kill you, her, and everyone connected with it. Even if you make it out alive, you'll never be...you'll be dead too."

I remember rumors and stories that I had heard about Haymitch; he knew his district partner and teamed up with her for a stretch of his games; he didn't kill her, but she died once they parted ways. He was warning me then, trying stop me from destroying myself.

"I'm just saying...You need to be smart to win this, not just strong or clever, and getting all caught up in feelings isn't going to help you when it comes down to it. Do you think that you could kill her to go home, because you might have to?"

"Haymitch, I'm not planning on going home."

"Excuse me?"

"I decided. She's going home. Not me."

He had snarked a laugh then.

"Well, I was wrong. You're not smart; you are an idiot. Why the hell would you want to do that?" he argued then almost as if he was arguing with himself: "You've seen her. She's a flipping mess. Just because she volunteered for her sister doesn't mean that she deserves your pity."

"No, it's not pity."

"Then what? Masochism?"

"No. I...I care for her, Haymitch. I want to do my best to make sure she gets home."

"So that's your game?"

"It's not a game to me."

"It is to her. She's watching everyone; everyone's a threat; she won't trust you. She's playing the game."

"I know. I'm used to that."

"...I don't get it."

"I don't expect anyone to understand."

"This is ridiculous."

"Maybe...but I was wondering though if you could help me."

"O I thought you were hell-bent on killing yourself for love."

"I just mean I need help strategizing. It is all well and good for me to want to protect her till the end, but those careers...I don't stand a chance with any one of them."

"Well you're right there."

"Right, so I want to last longer than the first five minutes, and I need to know what to do, how to make it as far as possible."

"So you want me to help you to die at the optimal time?"

"To help me die at the right time, yes."

"You're a fool."

"But will you help me?"

He had stared deep into his empty glass, lost in thought for a moment. Then he replied:

"Yes I will."

And now, with the sun beating down on me, I struggle to remember the plans that he had helped me create. Find water. Live past day one. Let the careers get their blood lust over with. Somehow, join them.

"You will last longer if you have access to resources, and the people who will have all the resources will be the careers. You need to somehow convince them that you are worth keeping around." Haymitch had told me.

"They hate her. After she got that score, she will be on their kill list for certain, and they will want to get rid of her as soon as possible."

I trip along some rocks and scrape my knee. Still I hear Haymitch.

"She won't let you join with her. She won't want the trouble of killing someone from her own district. But if you join with the careers then you can help manipulate where they go and who they hunt."

A mockingjay song echoes out along the trees.

"We need to use your feelings for her as a decoy. Let everyone think you love her, then in the arena, change your game. Careers don't care for love stories, but they might find you interesting if they can use you to get to her...if you can convince them that you are willing to betray her. If you can convince them that you are playing the game to your own advantage, then you might stand a chance. Try to convince them that they won't find Katniss without you. No guarantees boy, but they might be stupid enough or jealous enough of her to buy it. If they think that you have been fooling her, then they might see you as useful."

"What if I can't convince them?"

"Listen…let me talk to some of the career mentors. We might be able to work out a deal."

I hear a soft rushing in the distance, like air but thicker.

"Forget about what you're really feeling for her. Just focus on staying alive first, then keeping yourself and her alive by knowing where the careers go. Eventually, the group will deteriorate. They'll start killing each other once the weak ones are gone. They'll kill you too. But if you can time it so that Katniss is one of the last four tributes, then I think you can trust her to take care of herself from there."

I climb a rocky ledge, and to my utter surprise I find a small stream cascading down the rock face in the dark. Without much thought, I drink from the rushing water, quenching my thirst a bit too fast. It tastes wonderful. I can't get enough of it.

When I have had enough, I feel a little sick, but I try to look around to find some markers or signs for myself so that I can come back here. The stream descends at a slow pace, wandering through the trees; as I follow the bank, it widens into calmer stretches, the trees surrounding bending fall over the water.

I don't really know what I am waiting for. Haymitch told me that he had come to some kind of deal with the careers; he didn't tell me what. Just that I needed to wait until the first day was over, then if I had made it that far then they would likely allow me to join up with them in hopes of finding Katniss.

Near the end of training, Haymitch had taken me aside, leading to a private room in a section of the tribute centre that was foreign.
"What are we doing?" I had asked.

"We're going to try and broker a deal." He had said with a grimace.

"What do you mean?"

Before he could answer, we entered a room with four other people lounging on chairs.

Haymitch greeted each by name:

"Freema, Jobis, Thia, Finnick."

They had greeted him with a coolness.

Freema, Thia, and Jobis I didn't know. But Finnick, I recognized. He was the victor from a few years back; he had been the youngest victor yet when he won. Now people in the Capitol fawn over him like he is a dessert: men, women, all loved him that year. He was from District 4: not a career district but one that had closer ties to the Capitol than 12. With a drink in hand, Finnick and the others stared languidly at me and Haymitch. What was Haymitch doing?

Then in a moment, I understood. These people were mentors. He is trying to make a deal with other tributes for me, so that I can join with the careers at some point.

"He didn't score well." Freema sipped from her drink.

"He's strong. You can depend upon that." Haymitch had countered.

"Can he make it through the first day?" Jobis, a tall thick man, with purple hair, pinched my arm, as if testing for readiness. "Or is he stupid?"

"He's got some stupidity but he'll make it through." Haymitch glanced at me with distain.

"Why should my tributes bother with him? He might be strong but that doesn't mean much. What does he have to offer?"

Then before Haymitch could reply, I saw my chance to prove myself to them in the lie.

"I can help capture Katniss Everdeen." I had said.

They had all paused, pondering. Then Finnick had spoken out.

"Why would you betray your district partner? Not many do." His voice was ironic and smooth, playful, dark.

"I just want to make it. Everyone does, right? We have to do what it takes." I had replied, hardly believing my words.

Finnick had laughed lightly, then spoke again: "Well, I don't want him. My tributes this year are weaklings. They'll be dead in the first ten minutes. You can try and get him in with 1 and 2, but it's up to Freema and Jobis."

Freema had leaned back in her chair with a disinterested air: "I just don't see how he's an asset. Sure he knows the girl, but what's so peculiar about that. He can't guarantee that he'll find her in the arena."

"No," said Haymitch. "But he can lure her in, perhaps…."

Jobis had cut off Haymitch: "I think this is just a waste of time. Our tributes are strong and clever. And more too, they are all cocky as hell. They won't take too kindly to joining anyone from 12."

"But I can lead them to her." I had jumped in again.

Haymitch had shot a warning look at me. Then he said:
"Peeta, would you step outside for a moment. I will be with you in a second."

I had obeyed, waiting in the quiet.

When he came out, his face fallen, he had said:

"Well, I got you the deal. Make it through the first day, and you can join the careers. Just be sure to catch them in a good moment. There's no guarantee that any alliances will hold when the games actually start, but I got them to agree to take you on for now."

"How?"

"Nevermind. Just be grateful I did it."

Now, the woods are quiet. In fact, I can hardly believe that I haven't encountered another tribute yet.

I try to think of what is best to do next. Should I offer myself to the careers? Would they respect that? Or should I wait for them to find me? Haymitch couldn't offer me any guidance on this front. Even he can't anticipate what this year's careers will be like. All he could do was tell me that they had come to an agreement and that I needed to join them somehow once things calmed down.

Then, from the midnight quiet, I hear footsteps approaching, two sets.

I jump up and shield behind a tree. Listening, I can make out that it is Marvel and Clove, or at least that is my best guess based on their voices. Clove's voice is low, while Glimmer's naturally inflects too high. And Marvel, his voice is a little nasal. It's funny how those stupid details stay with me now. Of all the things I could have noticed about them...

Then an idea hits me. It's now or never.

With my deepest loudest voice, I call out: "I have a proposition for you."

They both start and whip out their weapons at my voice, but the gully in which I stand allows my voice to be amplified in multiple directions; they can't quite tell where I am, yet. The night shields me for now.

"Who's that?" Clove demands.

"Let me join you and I will deliver you Katniss Everdeen."

"Is that lover-boy?" Marvel snort, unimpressed.

"Is that you twelve?" Clove yells.

"Yes," I reply.

"Well, come out so we can kill you." She says.

"I'd rather not." I reply. Marvel chuckles wryly.

"We'll find you then." she calls.

"Don't we have a deal worked out? You can kill me, I guess, if you want. That's fine, but then you'll never find Katniss." I throw out.

That thought makes them pause.

"You know where she is?" Marvel asks.

"I can help you find her." I say. "We had a deal."

"What if I don't feel like making a deal anymore? What makes you think we can't find her on our own, lover-boy?" Clove barks out.

"You don't know her like I do."

"So?" Marvel returns.

"I know her strategies; I know her impulses. I have known her since I was a kid."

"Yeah, so why would you bail on her? Aren't you supposed to be madly in love?"

"You believed me then?" I ask with some warmth, as if I am laughing.

They again are caught by this.

"What do you mean?" Clove asks.

"Well, we all want to survive, don't we? I'm just doing what it takes to make it."

They whisper to each other. Clove shakes her head.

"You're not going to make it, lover-boy." Clove scoffs.

"Maybe not, but that won't stop me from trying." I reply. "Although I'm surprised that you didn't see through it at the interviews. Didn't your mentor tell you about the deal?"

They look at each other in doubt.

"So what are you proposing?" Clove asks.

"Like I said, I will deliver you Katniss, if you let me join with you." I say.

"What if we refuse and kill you anyway?" Marvel puts forth.

I hesitate for a minute. I'm not sure what to say. I don't really feel that valuable. How can I convince them that I am?

"If you want to find her, then you will need to take me in. Your mentors agreed to it. She's good. Really good. You don't know what she did in the evaluation room to get that eleven. I do. Take me in and I will tell you."

They begin to believe me. The idea of catching the girl on fire starts to seduce and distract them. Bringing up the evaluations was the right thing to do. I can see Clove's face cloud over with jealousy and anger.

I can just hear the gasps of shock and horror coming from the audience watching in the Capitol. Peeta Mellark, the boy in love with the girl on fire, now a traitor, now a liar.

They mutter to each other, trying to decide. Then Clove speaks:

"We'll make a deal with you, Twelve."

I feel my heart pounding hard.

She continues: "You come with us; we'll keep you alive for three days. When the time is up, then we kill you if we haven't killed her first."

"And if we do find her?" I ask.

"Then we kill her, and you get a head start to run away while we do." Marvel smirks.

I feel sick to my stomach. Is this the right thing to do to save her? Three days isn't a lot of time, yet a lot can happen in three days. I don't know. I don't know.

"Fine. Suits me." I manage to get out. With as much fake confidence that I can gather, I swing around the tree and casually walk towards them.

Clove sees me and crosses her arms: "No." she shakes her head.

Marvel looks at her then at me.

I stop and ask "what?"

"You don't get a head start." she counters.

"No?" I tilt my head.

"No," she narrows her eyes. "you get to be the one to slit her throat...and then run away."

My foot falters at the image. Katniss in a pool of flowing blood, Katniss with lifeless eyes, Katniss the fawn with a broken shoulder.

"Still fine." I approach them, keeping a distant but calm expression. "Got to do whatever it takes in the games, right?"

My voice is easy with just the right amount of disinterestedness.

Marvel stares for a moment, then laughs: "You're some actor, twelve. You had most of us ready to kill you just because your love-sick puppy routine made us all sick. "

I nod.

Clove looks me up and down, then gives a nod to Marvel.

Without a word, Marvel then punches me in the mouth. My lips splits, and I taste blood as I reel around to catch my balance. However, Clove swings her foot under me, and I land with heavy thud. She gives multiple hard kicks to my abdomen before I can even crawl or move. I can't breathe. I can't think. Marvel grabs at my shoulders and yanks me to my feet only to punch my cheek hard, knocking me to the ground again.

For a moment, I'm sure that this is it. They are going to kill me here in the woods. They lured me out of hiding with false promises, and I fell for it. I can almost see Haymitch shaking his head at my stupidity.

Marvel pounds my stomach with heavy kicks, and I vomit up bile, choking and sputtering for air.

Then Clove gives a strange laugh, and the two of them back off. I can't breathe or see. Blood flows from my mouth.

"Well, come on then." Clove commands, her voice entertained. "Time to run, Lover-boy." The two of them dart off into the woods again, and I struggle to stand, but somehow I follow, shaking when they aren't looking.

They aren't killing me yet.

They jog what seems to be a circle route slowly sloping around down back to the cornucopia. I try to keep up, but my lungs burn again, and I haven't eaten anything since the morning. I'm starting to realize just how hungry I am, in amidst the pain of my stomach and face.

Watching the two of them run a few feet ahead of me in the dark, through the sweat and blood, I see Clove's hair, dark and long, pulled into a high and tight ponytail, flowing behind her; if I didn't know better, if I was merely glancing, I would almost mistake her for Katniss in the blur. Like Katniss, Clove is small and thin, with long dark hair. Her face is sharp, with eyes so dark that they almost seem black. However, she isn't Katniss. Clove's whole presence exudes a coldness that is so different from Katniss'. For Katniss, the reserve and aloofness comes more from self-protection. For Clove, it is clear that she just hates everyone; it isn't about protection; it is about power. She will have no problem killing anyone to be the victor. Katniss, however, feels the struggle much more sharply.

I suddenly remember her quietly sitting next to me, the night before the games, asking me what I was going to do.

How can you tell someone that you are going to die for her?

I remember she had a sad and deeply disturbed expression.

"I just want to still be me in the games. I don't want them to change me." I had said to her softly.

She had looked at me with a mild confusion and almost horror.

Now, here I am, running with those who seek to kill her, in danger of being killed myself any moment. Am I still me? I need to keep this straight. Already too many lies are clouding in around me. I just need to focus on Katniss, despite the pain that is now spreading to my head; if I can remember Katniss, then I will remember who I am and why I am here.

We reach the edge of the field, the cornucopia glowing in the moonlight. Cato sees our approach and comes to meet us mid-field.

"Ah! I see lover-boy decided to hold up his side of the deal." He draws a dagger. His voice is hostile, despite seeing that I am in bad shape from the beating.

Clove holds up a hand.

"He's promised to help us track Everdeen." she explains.

"Isn't he supposed to be in love with her? He's not going to do that. My mentor said not to trust anyone from 12." Cato isn't convinced.

I step in, noticing that Cato's knife spinning more and more in his fingers.

"You won't be able to find her without me." I say with a similar disinterestedness, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

"Is that so?" Cato inquires with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Yes." I assert simply.

"He said that the lover-boy stuff was an act. I gave him three days to find her or we kill him." Clove says.

Cato looks me up and down: "Did you find him like this?"

"Of course not." Clove snorts.

"Good." Cato says. He pulls me in by the collar suddenly. "Don't forget lover-boy. You belong to us now, whether you're telling the truth or not." And to punctuate his statement, he slams his fist into my eye still holding me with his other hand by the collar. "You will do as we say." He violently pushes my body to the ground and pounds my head against the ground.

"You understand, lover-boy?"

I can't even speak; my brain is ringing.

However, Cato backs off as suddenly as he came.

"This should be fun," he remarks to Clove as they walk back to their supplies. "We'll see how long he lasts."

Marvel gives me a half-hearted kick to get me up, and we follow them to the fire that Glimmer has gotten blazing with a tin of gasoline and a box of matches.

They settle in around the fire and begin to open cans of food that they have found in the Cornucopia. Marvel gives me a shove to tell me where to sit, slightly back from them, but near enough for them to watch me.

Without really thinking, I bend forward to reach for a can of food; I'm hungry. Now that I'm with the careers, in my mind it makes sense that they would share what they have. However, I'm mistaken.

A sharp knife slices along my arm, speeding past to land in the ground a few yards away. Blood begins to flow, and I look up to see Clove and her empty throwing hand.

"Just because you're here, doesn't mean you get the same as us, Twelve." Cato remarks. "We do this like it is in Panem. You're the lowest district; you get our scraps, if there are any."

I say nothing, in shock mostly.

Then I rip part of my shirt to bind up the wound. What have I done? This is not any better than being alone. They are going to slice me up bit by bit before the end. This was really stupid. I was so stupid to think that I could somehow manipulate them. They still hold all the power.

Clove retrieves her knife, but then on a whim it seems tosses it to me, saying:
"Let's see you throw this. See if you can hit a target with the right end."

"What target?" I manage to say.

Cato jumps in: "This one." He grabs the boy from district three. I hadn't noticed him. He was seated further away from the fire. Cato pushes the boy up against the silver wall of the cornucopia and forces his arm out.

"Hit his hand," Cato commands. The boy looks mortified, yet he doesn't try to run or even resist. He just looks at me with glittering eyes.

"What?" I stumble.

"Hit his hand. If you can. Or are you too afraid that you will miss?"

This starts the rest of the careers to launch into a raining torrent of verbal attack upon me, taunting, cajoling, trying to distract me so I will miss.

If I miss and hit the side of the cornucopia, then I likely will get killed even more quickly. They will see me as weak and useless to them, besides the lie about Katniss. They aren't stupid, I am realizing now.

If I miss and hit his torso, then he's dead, eventually. Can I live with that?

"What good are you, twelve? Show us what you've got." Cato taunts circling me.

"Go on! Go on! Throw it."

"Come on!"

"Go on! Go on!"

"Throw!"

"Just throw it."

"He's so weak."

A deep anger floods me; I just want them to stop; for a moment, I stop thinking; I open my eyes and look at the boy's hand. Then without taking my eyes off of it, I throw the knife as hard as I can.

The boy screams.

The knife pierces his palm.

The careers go silent.

My heart splits.

"Well," Cato remarks. "That's surprising."

I turn around, trying to breathe. Clove looks taken aback.

The others also begin to look at me differently. Have I impressed them at last?

Somehow, their conversation turns from me, and I have a moment to despise myself. I walk to the boy from three, and offer him a rag from the ground to bind up his hand.

"I'm sorry." I tell him.

He says nothing, but wordlessly goes back to his place by the fire, trying to stop the bleeding.

I slump to the ground, overwhelmed by what I have just done.

Who am I?

Why did I do that?

Was it for Katniss? What was all of that about?

I want to let the tears in my eyes go, but I cannot.

Then from the din of conversation, I realize what they are saying.

"What did you see in your jog?" Cato presses.

"Looks like someone is starting a fire up the west ridge. A few kilometers away. We saw the glow." Clove reports coolly.

Cato claps his hands and hoots, careening over to pick up his sword.

"Perfect! What a way to finish the night!" He shouts.

The rest of them follow suit, expect for Three. He just sits trying to work the knife out of his hand without fainting. I'm not sure what to do.

Marvel gives me direction.

"Grab a knife, twelve." He instructs me to the cornucopia. "We're going hunting."

Hunting. The word makes me think of Katniss, though in a very different way. We are hunting people now, not animals.

I don't have a lot of time to think. There is only time for gut reactions. So I run to the cornucopia and grab the nearest knife I can find, then turn and join them as they run to the woods from the clearing.

It is difficult to keep up with them for a while; they run like deer, silent and steady of pace. However, when we reach the ridge, they stop and whisper to each other. In the distance through the trees, I can just make out the smudge of a faint light. I am surprised that they even noticed it; the light is so small and indistinct. Even though the night is dark, I doubt I would have seen it myself.

From there on, we walk quietly, making our way towards the prey with cautious careful silence. Thankfully, I am not the only one who makes noise. Cato is so big that he can't help but make some noise as he walks. Even Glimmer, tall and lean, makes a little noise. It is only Clove who is absolutely silent as she moves...unnervingly.

It takes us a long time to descend the ridge then climb back up the ascending hillside towards the fire. If I were alone, then I certainly would lose my way. Clouds have covered up the stars tonight, so there is no way to really tell what direction we are going.

I suppose the gamemakers like it this way. They only give us so much to go on. They want as much bloodshed and confusion as possible. Let the weak ones get lost and wander into traps, just like the one that we are arranging for this tribute by the fire.

I start to sweat. The hike up the hill is straining, and my body is already struggling. I have to stop a few times to catch my breath, even though we are walking extremely slow. The careers don't seem to notice. They are all trained on the glowing light that is increasing in clarity as we draw nearer.

"Do you have any water?" I whisper to Marvel who is a few feet from me. He shoots me a sharp glare, then with annoyance tosses me a flask with water. I pause and choke back the entire flask. Wiping my mouth, dried blood on my fingers and face, I take a long breath. Then I step forward.

It feels like my calf has been sliced.

I fall to the ground, wordlessly and surprisingly quiet.

Something had caught my leg, something painful.

I struggle a little, gasping agains the pain, then with exhaustion, I simply turn to examine my leg, despite its throbbing.

A snare.

It is a small snare, but somehow it was large enough to catch my boot and twist my ankle away from my leg. Trying to be as quiet as I can without alerting the others, I pick at it, until I remember my knife. Marvel glances back at me, and mouths at me profanities.

I point to my leg.

"Snare!" I whisper. "Be careful."

Why am I warning him? Don't I hate him? Aren't I supposed to let him die before all of this is over?

He pauses and then sees the snare and understands. Quietly he scampers up to the others and warns them to watch their feet, leaving me to free myself.

I scrape my knife along the strands that cut into my ankle, and manage eventually to free myself.

Rubbing my ankle, I try to stand, and hobble up the rest of the hill. I can just make out the shadows of the careers against the fire. They have reached it.

While I limp in their direction, I realize something, despite the multiple chaotic thoughts that punch through me.

I remember seeing Katniss practicing snares during training. I remember watching her fingers tying a particular kind of knot-just like the knot that I have struggled to undo around my ankle. In the middle of the darkness and movement, my heart freezes. She was here. Before I can dwell too much on the panic that I feel at the thought, I hear voices rising more distinctly now from the fire.

"No! No! Please! Please don't kill me! I was just so cold!" a girl's voice quivers in the chilly air. I limp up to the firelight, and she sees me behind them. She catches my eyes.

"Please! Please help me." She speaking to me, even though the careers think it is directed at them. They taunt her for a brief amount of time until one of them leaps in to slice her throat. Yet all the time her eyes stay fixed on mine. Even when the knife pierces her skin and carves through her neck, her eyes stay on me, even while she screams. For a moment, nothing else exists. And I cannot break the gaze of the girl.

How can anyone think that this is ever right? How can anyone ever bear to endure this? This is too much. This costs too much. I realize more and more than I won't just die here. It is going to cost me all that I am. There is always a price to be paid in the games, even if you don't win. Especially if you don't win.

Then I hear the others beginning to move off into the trees; somehow I follow them, their laughter echoing hollow in the air.

"What held you up, lover-boy?" Clove questions.

"Snare." I answer.

"So Marvel says." She eyes me, narrowly.

"It's Katniss's snare." I tell her the truth, knowing it will continue my lie, knowing every step I take is one closer to dying myself.

"Really? How do you know?"

"The knot. She's got a specific knot that she uses. I remember seeing it in training."

Clove nods, only slightly convinced: "Well, if that's true then good. She was here at some point."

"She'll be back in the daylight." I tell her.

"Oh?"

"She sets snares for catching food. She'll come in the morning to check them."

Glimmer and Cato interrupt us.

"Are you sure she's dead?"

"I didn't hear a cannon?"

"She's dead. Where I sliced her? She's dead."
They banter. Then I speak up: "I go check and finish her off." I need to go back. I can't let one of them go back. It needs to be me. For so many reasons it needs to be me.

They pause for a moment, then nod.

With knife suddenly heavy in my hand, I limp back to the girl. Blood is seeping out from her wound, and she's choking on it, struggling, writhing on the ground in the firelight.

I kneel down next to her.

She sees me, her eyes somehow still steady.

Then I put the knife gently on the ground and lean in to her ear so no one but she can hear me.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I whisper a sob, an honest sob at last, coming out. "Just hold my hand. That's it. Look at the trees. Look at the leafs. They are dancing in the breeze. Look at the night. It's beautiful." I whisper in her ear. "I'm here. You're not alone. I'm sorry. You are not alone." Her hand grips me tightly.

I keep whispering until her hand goes limp and her choking grows silent. It takes a while. Longer than I would wish for anyone. Then a cannon hits the air.

Wiping my tears quickly, I stand and grab my knife, dipping it a little in the gathered pool so as to continue the lie.

Then into the trees, I walk, willing my heart to think of nothing but Katniss-just Katniss. None of this will ever make sense. None of this will ever be right. Nothing of what I do here will ever be okay. However, I cling to my heart's plan like a drowning man. I'm here to get her to the end. She will be the only thing to keep me sane in this madness. Katniss, Katniss, I even think I whisper her name, hoping that somewhere in the dark she is safe and far, far away from here. How I do hope she is so far away! I hope that I never ever see her again.