I stand petrified under the crook of a tree, still in vigil. For divine objects, the agonizing Careers seem a poor choice- but they haven't stopped their moans. Cries. Shivers and jolts and scything and kicking. Deep in a chemical nightmare, they still seem dangerous.

I'm not sure if I would've liked them better sedated and dead-looking. But they're at their old site now, calm waters licking at thrashing feet and balmy shadows drooping over them. Supplies scattered on the ground near the egg-burst nest, a few dead wasps.

Huh, fancy that. They must've fallen over the embers, or been right on the underside on the nest and received too large an impact.

Supplies. Dirty with dead leaves, ash, some dust, blood- yet supplies all the same. Suspiciously, I don't see the bow and arrows- I assume the hovercraft bore them away on a bloated corpse. But the knives the girl from Two hurled before have landed somewhere near here. A bunch of little packets lie waiting, even a couple of charred scraps of meat. Some half- or so filled water bottles.

A long moan, shrill and unbroken- I don't want to check from who it came from and much less why. Sounded at the very least in excruciating pain.

Hope it isn't only mental- crippled is the only way I'll stand a chance against one of them, let alone three plus the Lover Boy. But hunger has sent the long drawls of information out of my mind and replaced them with the little images of the slightly abused food packages in front of me.

Tentatively, oh so slowly and with my heart almost physically in my throat. Languidly, focus solely on the silence of the clearing and the soft beat of the water. I advance, painful-slow and sure towards the first package.

I luck out- it's jerky, roughly half of it. Then it's hysteria in my veins and I zip across, checking each of the contents with an appraising and ravenous eye.

Delirious dehydrated berries. Divine fruit, pressed and conserved with sugars. Salted jerky strips roughly the length of my forearm and rough as bark. A couple burnt crusts of bread, with a bit of the white fluffy insides still clinging tenaciously to it and even softly scented of butter. It takes too much effort to tear my head away from the devouring hole in my stomach and slap my hands back.

This is by far my shoddiest job- back in District Five, Wasp would've boxed my ears. Sparks would've just eyed me eerily, as if her foray to the moon had been cut short by my behavior and was expecting me to hand her the ticket back. There would've been Peacekeeper noises from behind- grunts and groans and curses at losing a scrawny fox of a girl in the warren of alleys and backstreets only to have her loop back. But here, in the Arena, I just hear tranquil crickets and agitated breaths of my foes. My fingers curl around the grips of some throwing knives- it'd be easy, so easy, to slit their throats.

But without their supplies, or a way to get at them, my death is guaranteed. With them, it's a large chance of it, but not a sure thing. Maybe, just maybe.

I don't want the poison to fade off before I've melted back into the underbrush or something. I grasp and tear at the supplies, taking too much of the jerky and ripping one of the bags with nuts apart. I bite my tongue while stifling a curse, and I'm not sure if that hurt more than the knife cuts on my hand. One of the water bottles spills a bit- I hurriedly select another one, spraying liquid in a wide irregular arc and oh no I'm going to get caught. Somehow, I've crammed the items into pockets, the hood, inside my shirt.

Man, I'd wash better than just a frenzied dip in the pool if I could- but with these companions, I wouldn't risk it until my ripe smell was too strong to conceal. Not that I'm too far away from that point, but it can still wait. I've only a limited time to acquire goods before the shock of the toxin leaves their system.

Then I stagger back into my secluded corner of shrubbery. A reek of mint assaults me and I rub annoyed against it, seeking to mute it a bit or to get by osmosis some of the passable fragrance. It most probably doesn't work, but I'm not going to care for that at the moment.

Fidgeting a bit, I retrieve some of the strips of bark soaked in crushed berry juice and sweat. They've survived this hell and I'm hungry, but…

No, I will not gobble up the nicer stuff right now. Something about rationing or keeping my strength up and most importantly, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to trickle from them.

I nip and suck at the bit of deprecated tree matter. It tastes as bad as it did before- of mostly nothing and cellulose-texture, choking like paper and molasses. I slip a finger into another pocket, retrieving a single raisin.

A bit of the nice stuff. It's all golden-amber, curled up like a fat leaf. One of Audrey's candies, all warped and wrinkled from too long in the sun and pressure.

I pretend I'm not pressing it against the nearly-tasteless bark. I am not biting into it and relishing the sweetness and gummy texture. I don't close my eyes in near bliss, most certainly I don't. And I don't take seconds, this time with a little round blue-brown berry.

Eating the strip of bark consumes most of the afternoon. And the Careers are still in the hallucinogen induced daze, the world a rainbow burst of pain. Maybe I've lucked out here and-

I hear retching and colorful curses tearing shrapnel-loud through the greenery. Whatever hopes I had of at least one Career perishing have vanished… but I still have a warm trail to the supply treasure trove.

The girl- the only one I know still lives apart from Girl on Fire- stretches long and lean. Even with the front of her clothes drenched in sweat and vomit, she'd be among the last people I'd poke fun at. And she surveys the field-

I pray, I really do, that she doesn't find footprints. That the ripped things are from fortunate wildlife and their own rush, instead of from a scrawny fox of a girl. That she thinks the knives zoomed off into the distance. But she holds the campsite in her gaze for infinity, surveying the place like she knows something is-

"We should be getting back- no use hunting in this state."

"Lover Boy, as if we'd be brought down by that. Although, I can accommodate if you think-"

"Made it as well, didn't I?"

"Hmph, guess you did."

I hear more than see her dance tight circles around the bulkier boy, all eyes on her and only her. The nearly-sensuous dance, the predatory gaze and-

Flick-

"Ow."

"But just by a little. Now be a good ally and lead the way back, since we're so…"

"Okay."

I make sure to stay a good ways behind the boy from One, last in line. And always, obsessively right at his back and with a knife aimed poorly between his shoulder blades.

I amble-sneak forwards, too mindful of not tripping to really focus on the route.

And it isn't that important for me at this point anyways.


A.N. – Sorry for the update slippage! I really am sorry, but suddenly exams and hospital and having to lend out the books. So… mind if I ask for forgiveness?

That said, thanks for reading and enjoying this fic, and I hope to see you soon!