Disclaimer: (I tend to forget this) I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters and I am in no way profiting from this. So please don't sue me, or I'll go from poor to broke.

Warning: This chapter is slow. Yes, even slower than the previous ones. Not a lot of things happen here, but I swear the next one is more interesting!

Lack of much human interaction. Just Katniss to keep you all company.

I'd thought that I would cry, but the tears never came, and I just ended up feeling more lost than I had ever been – the moment I'd heard the news of Dad's death included.

Did it make me a bad person? To have completely lost the trust of one of the most important person in my life, but hadn't been able to manage squeezing out a few tears? It was supposed to be the 'big day' that I'd been preparing for ever since I'd volunteered for Prim in the games, but I was just tired and drained from the few hours of sleep I had managed to catch the day before. I lay on my bed soundlessly until Haymitch came to knock on my door with a call of, "breakfast," and I knew it was time to face to world again.

Effie was silent for once and the entire table looked uncharacteristically gloomy. My defeated expression and Peeta's refusal to meet anyone's eye didn't help matters either, and we just settled for a silent breakfast before the games began. And before we were led off by our stylists for the final dressing and preparations, Haymitch paused from his meal to look us both in the eye. "Stay alive," he said. And those could be the final words we would hear from him.

Cinna helped me dress with the assigned clothes from the Capitol. They stank of newly processed fabric, but they were the only ones I would probably be getting and the dull colors had a forest theme that reminded me of district twelve, and along with it, Prim and everyone else I had left behind. The entire attire – from jacket to the boots – fit me perfectly. It was durable and flexible enough not to restrain movement, and I was content.

Before I left, Cinna reached into his pocket to retrieve the golden mockingjay pin and wordlessly pinned it on the collar of my shirt. He gave me an encouraging smile and gripped me in a tight hug which I returned. "Good luck. Stay safe, Katniss," he whispered. Then the peacekeepers led me away from Cinna, the only constant friend I'd had since the reapings.

Clove plain out avoided me on the ride to the arena.

Out of sheer luck, we were assigned to sit next to each other, but I couldn't find a way to communicate with her without letting everyone know that there was something other than mutual dislike between us. Perhaps it would be better that way, I thought. No matter what we were – acquaintances, friends, lovers – there was no denying that in the arena, we were all enemies. The only factor was how long the pretense was kept up. How long an alliance held before the backstabbing began.

I wondered what last night meant for us. While neither of us had verbally agreed to an alliance, it was mutually understood that neither of us would go out of our way to harm the other. But she was in the Career's pack, and I was over at Team Katniss (which sadly just consisted of myself) and the two main alliances would have to battle it out sooner or later. And with the huge shift in our relationship the day before, who knew where we stood.

Had our entire friendship been demolished? Would we have to fight each other to the death during the bloodbath?

I studied her from the corner of my eye. She may now hate me, but I didn't think I could harm her even if my life depended on it. What did that mean?

A large shadow moving to block the light from my vision brought me out of my thoughts and I slowly looked up. "Hold out your hand," the Capitol woman instructed impatiently, holding up a menacing looking syringe. I dubiously stretched my arm towards her, but she simply grabbed in a tight hold and injected something into me. I flinched, more from the coolness of the needle than actual pain. It was a tracker, I knew. The Capitol didn't want to lose track of their play things in all the 'excitement'.

The used syringe fell onto the metal tray of the pull-along trolley with a loud clank and the woman drew out another similar syringe. Clove already had her arm out. She didn't flinch, wince or allow a single expression to make its way onto her face. It warmed me to know that regardless of how much had changed, she was still the proud and fearless career I knew.

The hovercraft landed about half an hour later, descending underground beneath the arena where the launch points were located. The vehicle was windowless, but I could tell when it hovered unmoving in the air, then dipped down to the ground. It was a completely new sensation – it felt that while my body descended, my insides hung in the air for a moment longer before being dragged down.

I heard that years ago, people used to find entertainment in these sort of things; riding on a giant cart up a track and following it as it swerved and dipped dangerously downwards.

It was thrilling, I supposed; feeling the rush of adrenaline though your veins. And I may have enjoyed that kind of feeling under different circumstances – without my breakfast threatening to escape at every sudden movement. Then the flying hunk of metal came to a shuddering stop. And with a mechanic swoosh, the piece that made up the 'door' of the hovercraft was released, and it unfolded neatly into a bridge-like structure that allowed us to cross safely onto a separate platform.

"Everyone out," a peacekeeper commanded and nudged the muzzle of his rifle towards the exit.

From my left, Clove was the first to stand, and around us, tributes followed suit with varying expressions and began the walk down to our launch points. For many of them, it was a journey to the gallows. Twenty-three would die in the span of around two weeks. And many wouldn't live past that day.

"Stand on the platforms," an employee pointed to a collection of metal plates arranged in a semi-circle. Each one had a district number and gender printed on its surface, the only feature telling the identically designed platforms apart. I found mine further towards the left end of the curve and almost instantly, a transparent tube descended to encase me and the platform began to rise. I let my fingers gently graze the surface of the tube as I ascended.

There went my last chance of escape.

Sunlight bathed me in its warmth and I could feel its gentle glow caressing my skin. It was a welcomed change from the artificial lighting of the Capitol I had experienced for the whole of my stay. But I knew that in truth, the 'sunlight' was just an artificial as anything Capitol; it was just designed to be more realistic. I felt a pang of sorrow, knowing that tributes that fell in the arena – and perhaps myself – wouldn't even be able to see and feel one last moment of natural sunlight, an escape from the arena and back to their previous lives in their respective districts.

I felt the breeze the same instant my nose picked up the promising scent of pine. My spirits soared. Pines meant forest, and forest meant somewhere to hide and a source of food and water. My chances of survival had just been multiplied.

Then I spot the Cornucopia, a metallic horn-shaped structure that glittered under the light. It held all sorts of products that gave us life in the arena: food, water, weapons, garments etc. Then littered around it were other items, decreasing in value the further they were from the Cornucopia. You could run straight for the cover of the forest, but just a small detour would allow you a potentially life-saving product. It would just take a few steps. And a few steps could be enough for someone to drive something sharp into you, and then it would be over.

The gamemakers were tempting us, and around me, tributes' eyes were beginning to stray from their previously certain destinations. Many would take the risk, I realize. There would be many deaths that day.

Then I heard the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice boomed through the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I'd been standing on the platform for close to a minute, and up in the sky, the countdown timer neared the thirty second mark.

Thirty seconds could be such a long time away, I thought, looking at the careers. Then again, it seemed like I could just close my eyes for a second, and when I re-opened them, the seconds would have gone by in a flash and the chaos would begin.

The seconds were down to twenty-five, and again, I considered my options. I could run straight for the trees, and my legs would carry me far from the bloodshed and I would most probably live for another day. I could hear Haymitch's instructions repeating through my mind. "Run as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. Find a source of water. Live."

But it was so tempting. I reminded myself that it was what the Capitol wanted us to do – run in straight to the slaughter – but the bounty's sitting there ripe for the taking. And immediately, the thought of running away empty-handed seemed that much more undesirable. I could almost picture Haymitch's disapproving stare in my mind, but I pushed it aside, and chose to let my eyes sweep around the arc again. The careers were more or less spread out, but whether that was an advantage for the rest of us, we were still waiting to find out.

Ten seconds left on the clock. I thought of Clove.

I could feel regret seeping deep into me. How I wished we were back on the rooftops. It could have all went differently, I thought. Even if I could never have returned Clove's feelings then, we could have left on a better note, or anything that wasn't icy cold or burning hate. There were so many things I still needed to know, and so many things I needed to say to her. And dying before I could accomplish all that seemed like such a waste. So I decided that I would live. So that I could give both of us the closure we needed, if nothing else.

I could see the glinting silver of a bow and a quiver of arrows beside it, practically a beacon beckoning right at me. And I would go for it, I decided. Because it was my best bet of survival in the later stages of the games.

It was down to five, and I spared myself a second to give a possibly last look to Clove, memorizing every inch of her features. She looked right into the heart of the Cornucopia, her body readied for a dead sprint. Then I noticed Peeta from a few plates away, looking right at me. He seemed to be shaking his head, as if warning me against going in for the bow. But I couldn't be sure, since the light was in my eye, and I frowned. He was mouthing something at me.

Then the gong sounded, and all around me, tributes left their plates, all taking off in different directions.

And I'd missed it! The bow suddenly looked that much further away and I scampered off the platform with conflicting thoughts running a hundred miles per second through my head. Then I pushed myself off towards the trees, running right at an orange backpack that could hold anything, or completely nothing at all. But I couldn't bear to leave the Cornucopia empty-handed with the knowledge that I could have gotten something.

There was the pounding of feet, but no cries or yells of pain had erupted yet. I bent down slightly to scoop the bag up, but when I rose, I almost fell from the sudden resistance as a male tribute pulled the backpack backwards. We struggled for it, and just when I thought he was about to gain the upper hand, his grip suddenly went slack, and warm blood splattered onto my face. I staggered back in surprise, with the backpack now unchallenged in my arms.

Then I see her, standing just ten yards away, with her arm extended in a completed throw. And the boy was limp on the ground, the hilt of a knife protruding from his back.

Clove looked at me, and I stared back. And then around us, the entire area exploded into chaos.

'Run," she mouthed, hands filled to the brim with an assortment of knives, and I didn't hesitate to turn around and head straight for the forest. I silently wondered if she would throw a knife at my back, just as she'd done with that nameless boy. I'd seen her throw; she never missed. No, I reassured myself. Clove wouldn't do that.

But that wasn't the Clove who'd held me after the private trainings and whispered encouraging words in my ear. That was an angry and hurt fuelled version.

When I feel a gentle pressure at my back, I wondered if that were it, and I was gone for good. But then three, six seconds passed and there wasn't any pain, and I just knew. My lips twitched upwards into a smile. Though I didn't check then, I knew that if I had, the sight of a knife lodged into the front of the backpack would have greeted me. Thank you Clove, I thought.

I continued running until the woods had completely enveloped me, then I slowed down to a jog that I would be able to maintain for a while. I didn't dare check the content of the bag yet, but I freed the knife – a fine one with a long sharp blade, serrated near the middle so that it would be handy for sawing through things – and slipped in into my belt. I sent a prayer for Clove even though I knew she would be fine. She was strong.

I alternated between running and walking for the next few hours, stopping only to check for pursuers. I needed to put as much distance between me and the Cornucopia as soon as possible.

I kept an eye out for water, following Haymitch's second instruction. No such luck. But as I passed yet another tree, I wondered if the moment Clove and I had shared in the Cornucopia had been broadcasted. There was a chance that it was missed in all the excitement, but as far as I knew, Clove had drawn the first blood. Something like that wasn't missed. Especially if there was a possibility of a confrontation between 'the girl with the eleven' and 'the career who supposedly hated her guts'.

It would be the biggest news since Peeta's revelation the night before. People would talk, and though it would remain unknown in the cocoon that was the arena, I wondered how everyone took it. Gale would be doubtful of Clove's intentions, but Prim would be happy at the prospect of me gaining a new ally. And me? It was as if a giant weight had been lifted off me. The overwhelming relief providing me hope for the future.

And it's late afternoon, when the cannons started firing, that I remembered Peeta.

I might have been mad at him, but concern surged through me and it quickly gave way to fear when I counted the cannon shots. Eleven. That was almost half of all the tributes. And I thought of Peeta, who'd been so sure he wouldn't make it out from the arena alive. He could be bleeding out from a wound somewhere, or maybe he was already dead, ready to be picked up, cleaned and shipped back to district twelve in a wooden box. I tried to think of where he'd headed when the gong had sounded, but all I could remember was him shaking his head, and mouthing something I hadn't been able to catch.

A sudden feeling to tiredness engulfed me and I slumped down against a tree, shrugging off the backpack. I wouldn't get to know till night had descended. It was time to see what I had to work me.

I was parched with thirst and cracks had already found their way onto my lips. Water is always the first priority, I reminded myself. I could go days without much food, but without water, I wouldn't last long. I unhooked the straps holding the backpack close and spilled its contents onto my lap. It was sturdy and would last for a decent amount of time, though made of an unfortunate color that completely lacked discretion. I mentally took not to camouflage it as soon as possible. Rolling it around in the mud and letting it dry would do.

There was one thin black sleeping bag that reflected body heat, a pack of crackers, a pack of dried beef strips, a bottle of iodine and other items sprawled across my thighs, but I paid them no attention and immediately reached for the half-gallon plastic water bottle. My fingers felt particularly clumsy in my haste to unscrew the cap and the moment it's free, I peered down its opening to inspect the contents inside. Burning frustration sparked from inside me and I let the bottle slip out of my grasp and into my lap.

Dry. Not a single drip of liquid inside.

How hard would it have been for the gamemakers to fill up the bottle? They wouldn't even have needed to do it, but just assign the task to some Avox.

I became more aware of the sweat collecting in my brows and dryness in my throat. It'd been hours since I'd last held water to my lips, and staying hydrated was rapidly becoming an alarming issue. Then dread washed up me as a thought filled my mind. What if the lake near the Cornucopia was the only water source?

It was something that had been done in the past, used to draw tributes in for fights. Death by another tribute's hand or a slower and much more agonizing one by nature. I could make the journey, though it was as much as a full day's travel, and a significantly harder one with nothing to drink. But what next when I arrived? The Cornucopia was as far as I knew of, Career central. Even if I were armed, I stood next to no chance against four trained careers simultaneously.

With Clove's help, it would be a much better odd of two to three, something workable. She'd saved my life once and spared it after, but would she be willing to risk her own life for mine?

Panic threatened to overwhelm me, but logic fought for solid ground in my consciousness and I tried to piece together scattered thoughts. I could hear the calls of birds and other insects. I'd seen a fair share of muttations and animals during the long journey. I allowed just a bit of relief to alleviate the fright I felt.

They must have been drinking from somewhere. Somewhere close by.

Then my hunger made its appearance known, not quite in a growl, but a demanding whine. I reach for the dagger I hung securely from my belt and worked on a nearby pine tree, taking out the outer bark to reveal the softer inner bark. I took a large scrape off it and chewed on it while I walked along, no path in mind but only a clear goal of water. It was harder to take after my week of the finest gourmet food, but I swallowed it without complaint.

The beef strips and crackers were packed safely in my bag, stored away for times where food was scarce. No point in wasting precious rations just a day into the games.

I combed the forest for any trace of precious water, but only found myself more tired and frustrated than before. And by then it became clear that I needed to set up camp. I knelt down and scoured my bag for the small coil of wires and set two twitch-up snares in the bushes. It immediately reminded me of district twelve, and the rich forests that had started feeling more like a second home as time passed. Thoughts of home usually led to memories of Prim and Gale, but instead, in the rapidly descending darkness of the arena, I thought of Clove.

Those days, nearly everything reminded me of Clove.

Clove animatedly speaking, Clove laughing, Clove and I sitting under the soft glow of the moon. What did that mean? My subconscious was trying to show me something, but it might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue. There was this warmth that flourished in my chest whenever I spent time with Clove, but it wasn't completely unlike the one I felt when I was in the company of Gale, or even occasionally Madge. Where was this 'line' that separated friendship from attraction, infatuation and love?

I wished someone would have taught me those things. I was going in blind, not knowing what to expect at all, and the feeling terrified me.

The anthem booming throughout the arena derailed my train of thoughts and with a blink, the seal of the Capitol was projected high up in the night sky, freely visible to any tribute who took the effort to look for it. The first to appear was the girl from district three, and a rush of air left my lungs in relief. Clove was just fine.

Nine more faces flashed across the inky expanse and I recognized the face of the boy who I'd fought for the backpack, his face completely void of emotion. The picture was taken days before the games, when he probably held onto a flicker of hope that he would make it out alive. And then he was dead. Death waited for no one, and I silently wondered if he'd known, even before the knife had slipped into his back and his life had left him in one final gasp.

One tribute left. Could it be Peeta? The face of the nameless girl from ten flashed across the screen and the Capitol seal was back. Then it disappeared, sending the arena back into darkness' hold.

I was relieved he was still alive. We've had our disagreements, but that didn't mean that I wanted him dead – at the moment at least. Only one person would make it out alive, but I took comfort in the fact that all three of us would live to see another day.

Even with the sleeping bag, the rough bark of the tree cut into my back and I struggled to find a comfortable position. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, and I had to be as prepared as possible. Thoughts flitted through my mind in the silence of the night, but I did my best to quiet them until they became nothing more than mutterings in the background.

In the cold arena, away from everything I'd ever known, sleep did not come easily.

But when I did settle into sleep's embrace, it was to Clove's laughter, and the feel of her arm snaked around my shoulders, holding me as we dreamt of somewhere, anywhere.

A place that held peace neither of us knew.

Remember certain parts in the story where Katniss took apart and studied her relationship with Clove, and she asks herself, 'what did that mean'? I really wanted to scream at her then. You love Clove, now go find her and be happy forever! Stop being so plain depressing! Then, you know, I remembered that I'm the author… It sucks to know that I constantly frustrate myself when I write. Katniss's confusion is confusing me.

I know that this chapter is quite slow, with more ramblings that action. The beginning follows quite closely to the book, but from the next chapter onwards, Clove's actions would start having a larger impact on the games.

Thank you all for the lovely reviews :D

I would like to end off this with a question: when does friendship end and love begin?

I think this is a question that is widely subjective to personal opinions and everyone has their own unique ideas, but this is the main theme of the entire story. Does friendship have to end for love to begin? Or can they co-exist together between a pair? There is no clear answer, but this is Katniss finding out. And somewhere in the arena, Clove is figuring out for herself as well.

Rioshix