You know, it's funny, how running for one's life makes petty things not matter as much.
Yeah, it's a cliché, a definite cliché. But it's also true.
Take right this minute, for example.
I'm running for my life, my two allies (one of them a fourteen year old who still manages to look no more than twelve when she's scared, and the other who really is only a dozen years old) right behind me.
Oh, and did I mention, we're in the bloody hedge maze?
Yeah, that's right, the one we all came up into on our first day in the arena. The one Foxface (who, according to what I saw in the sky last night, is now dead) unintentionally showed me how to climb out of.
Before the girl from 3 spotted us filling our canteens at the stream and started chasing me, I was actually really peeved at Lucy for something. This incredibly stupid argument we had about how long squirrel meat needs to be cooked. Anyway, I realize I must have been a real ass about it, because, honestly, going on what I've learned about Lucy in the time she's been my ally, she rarely-if ever-holds grudges for longer than ten minutes in a row.
But now I'm not angry at all. I just want to get her (and Gael) out of this safely.
There's just one problem. This tribute hates me. I've got the same score as her, she's allied with the Careers (all of whom also hate me-with the exception of Lucy, I think), and I broke her electric spear.
Translation? I am dead meat.
And as long as Gael and Lucy are following me-as long as Jade whatever the rest of her name is remains within spitting distance of them-they are marked for imminent death, too.
Lucy is breathing heavily. Gael is beginning to lag behind. Twice, I've looked over my shoulder to see Lucy practically dragging her along. (She has the bow and arrows Foxface left us, of course, but in order to use these weapons, she has to let go of Gael's hand, which clearly she won't-can't-do. Not with how close behind us the girl from 3 currently is.)
I may have a painful stomach wound that I worry might be showing the beginning signs of a bad infection (inflicted on me by the same mentally unstable tribute who has chased me all the way from the stream to the inside of the blasted hedge maze) which might need medicine I can't get here in the arena unless a sponsor would care to help me out (ahem, Johanna!), but I can still run faster than them; my legs are longer. I'm bigger and stronger than they are. I have a better chance of surviving this alone.
It is me the scary girl from 3 wants. If we separate, she'll go after me, not them.
"Go down the other path," I shout at Lucy over my shoulder. "Hide there. You know the place to find me again." Our cave, I think, survive this and meet me at our cave.
"What?" She looks at me in disbelief. "I'm not leaving you."
"You are," I shout-insist. "I'll see you afterward."
"If-" she begins, sobbing.
"No if," I remind her loudly, my voice cracking. "Just see you afterward. Remember?"
There is no time to argue, the girl from 3 is gaining on us. And though I know Andrew, Peridan, Clove, and Cato are somewhere in the hedge maze too (I've heard their voices, shouting back and forth to each other, I've just been lucky enough not to run into any of them yet), and there's the chance Lucy could take a wrong turn, accidentally meet up with one of them, and possibly be killed, it's still better than knowing she and Gael will be killed.
Which is what's going to happen if she doesn't take Gael and abandon me right now!
The next time I turn around, glancing backwards, Lucy is gone. She's obeyed me. The only person behind me is the girl from District 3. As I suspected, she hasn't gone after Lucy and Gael. She's let them go.
I'm not so lucky. I run into a dead end, next turn I make. Oh, bloody horse manure! Dash it! What am I going to do?
Climb, says the voice in my head, obviously...
This time, I can't test every place with the back of my wrist as Foxface did, and I have no one else's movements to copy. I scrape my hands several times and feel burning pain. The gamemakers think this is funny, I'll bet, watching me hurt myself and have potentially poisonous prickers shred my hands to ribbons.
The girl tries to climb after me, holding her knife in her mouth, but her face twists in annoyance as pain shoots through her white hands, now stained red with blood.
Her blood flow dripping from her hands is actually worse than mine, I notice. And it's slowing her down.
I'm already on top of this hedge maze wall. I can't get out of the maze (we're somewhere close to the middle, not on the outer edges), but I can see a lot of things.
Most importantly, I can see where the Careers are in relation to where Lucy and Gael are.
It's getting dark, and I consider turning on my electric torch so I can keep track of everybody's location better. But, then, that would be akin to shining a beacon in the eyes of the angry District 3 Jade-girl and shouting, "I'm here, come and get me!" So I don't.
That's when I hear gunfire.
My heart leaps into my throat as I'm scrambling along the hedge wall. Lucy! The gunfire wasn't far off from where I saw her and Gael running.
Unless my ears are playing tricks on me.
I finally spot Cato, pistol in hand, chasing a tribute. But it's not Lucy or Gael. It's somebody I didn't even realize was in this maze to begin with.
It's the boy from District 6.
I know the girl from his district is dead now. Going by the glint of fading sunlight on his neck, he's wearing her token.
Lucy is coming up behind Cato, though neither of them realize it. She has an arrow on the bow-string now, ready to use, and Gael seems to be keeping up with her all right in spite of the fact that they're no longer holding onto each others' hands.
I hear a grunt and whip my head around.
The girl from District 3 has fallen while climbing. She seems unhurt aside from her bleeding hands, unfortunately, but this gives me even more time to scale this wall and find a way out.
Also, time to watch what's going to happen with Lucy, Gael, Ash, and Cato without the fear of being stabbed in the back by this creepy girl climbing up behind me.
Cato and Ash are fighting. Ash is taking some hard-knocks. Cato, sadistic monster that he is, has seen fit to hit Ash repeatedly in the face with the pistol, shattering his spectacles (one lense of which was already cracked) and blooding up his nose and lips. Because, apparently, this is more fun than just shooting him and getting it over with.
If he beats Lucy with a gun like this, I swear on everything, I will tear the sorry son of a female dog limb from limb.
In a sudden twist of fate, Ash has gotten hold of Cato's gun. His hands tremble as he prepares to pull the trigger.
Probably, he can't see too well. He's in a sorry state. But even Ash can't miss at this close of range.
Cato doesn't move. He stands there, staring at the boy from District 6 with an eyebrow raised, as if to say, "Go ahead, try to shoot me, you idiot. You know you'll mess up."
Ash's hand tightens around the pistol.
Cato looks a bit more concerned. I guess, though I can't see it clearly from up here, the look on Ash's face has tightened and he's holding the gun more steadily now. He still has it pointed too low, but injuring Cato is better than leaving him completely able-bodied. This will give Ash a chance to escape (and perhaps time for Lucy and Gael to turn around and go back the way they came before they're noticed).
Bang! The trigger is pulled, and it seems as if Cato is about to get a shot straight to his upper thigh.
But then, without warning, the boy from District 2 darts out of the way at the last possible second.
The bullet strikes a tribute who is standing behind him. The tribute is much shorter than Cato. The bullet that would have ended up in his leg hits her stomach.
In the enveloping darkness (the gamemakers, it appears, have made the arena's sun set faster than usual for dramatic effect) I think it's Lucy who's been hit and I actually, from shock and terror, fall from the hedge wall and onto the ground at the feet of the tribute with blood on her doublet.
My back is hit, full impact, and as the pain lessens and I'm able to think again, I come to four conclusions. All drawn from things I've heard simultaneously while falling.
One) Cato has fled; two) Ash is still here, gaping in horror at what he's done; three) the girl from District 3 is going around, with Clove, to meet up with us over here so they don't have to climb; and four) I was wrong about who Ash shot.
It wasn't Lucy.
The little girl from District 4, a stunned look on her small, pale face, puts her hand to the lower part of her doublet. Drawing her hand back up to her face to examine it, she sees it is visibly covered with thick red blood that looks black in the darkness.
My brain registers that it heard, but was momentarily unable to process, Lucy's voice screaming, "Gael!" at the top of her lungs.
Ash's fired-off bullet is in Gael's stomach.
Gael crumbles to the arena ground.
"No!" screams Lucy, dropping to her knees and putting her arm around Gael, propping her up against her lap.
"I didn't mean to..." Ash whimpers.
I bend down beside Lucy, looking at poor Gael gasping for breath.
How can anyone be entertained by this?
If an accident like this happened in the streets of any of the districts (or even the Capitol) there would be people crying and doing everything they could to save the dying kid. But because this is on the telly, it doesn't matter. It's all right. They can let her die.
And the worse part is I know that's what they're doing.
If they wanted to, they could save her life. They could send in the hovercraft, full of doctors and medicines and surgeons and anything else. But they won't. She will die here, and everybody will watch, enthralled, unable to look away.
"I have one bullet left," says Ash, looking oddly determined.
I twist my neck to look over at him. "You've only got the one shot. It will take more than that to bring down Cato."
"It's not for Cato," says Ash, clenching his jaw and bringing the pistol to his head, pressing it against his temple.
"Don't, please!" cries Lucy, clutching Gael tighter still.
"Listen," I say, "it was an accident. Don't pull the trigger. Just get out of here."
"Killing yourself won't fix this," Lucy bawls. "It won't make things any better."
Ash lowers the pistol, and it glints in the fake moonlight. I think he is listening to us. I wait for him to run. But then I see he's pressed the pistol against the left side of his chest-exactly where his heart is-and is pressing his finger against the trigger more determinedly than before.
"I'm so sorry," he says, and shoots himself.
A raspy gasp comes out of Gael, and Lucy's face is soaked with endless tears.
I'm in a state of disbelief. I can't believe he actually did it. That the boy who was expected to have no kills actually has had two before going out with a bang.
Himself. And Gael.
Because Gael is not going to make it. I've known it from the second I saw her blood-stained hand and the expression on her face as she regarded it.
If I could, I'd give my own life in exchange for that of this girl who wants to grow up to be just like Lucy. The world doesn't need me as much as it needs more people like Lucy and Gael. Even if they are Careers. But I can't do anything. I can't trade my life for that of the little girl dying in front of me.
Ash's cannon booms.
I decide on a whim to take Lilliandil's token off of his corpse. If I live through this, I'll return it to Caspian. I can't get the image of the two of them making out by the elevators out of my head.
"Lucy," I say, "we have to get out of here. The girl from District 3 and Clove are coming... I heard them, when I fell... And Cato could come back at any second. He saw you, he knows you're here." And he wants her dead. "And he must know I'm here, too." He wants me dead even more.
She looks at Gael. "We can't leave her alone."
Even though she's going to die, I can't bear to leave her behind any more than Lucy can. So I pick up the dying District 4 child in my arms and carry her as we run together, trying to get out of the hedge maze.
I can't climb and carry Gael at the same time. We will have to find our way out naturally. No cheating.
Thankfully, after only a few minutes of running into dead-ends, Lucy sees a way out (it seems one of the tributes must have cut a hole through the hedge, possibly on the first day, so they could get out into the open) and we all but fling ourselves through it.
"You didn't think you'd get away that easy, did you?" a voice behind us says.
It's not the girl from 3 (I know that because my skin doesn't start crawling the way it tends to whenever she speaks), but it is Clove from 2.
She's alone, for the moment, but Careers and their allies do hunt in packs. Besides, I know I heard her talking to the girl from 3 when I fell from the hedge wall. So, naturally, an added attack could come, not from the front or behind, but from the side. From the others a less paranoid tribute might not have even suspected were so close at hand.
My arms are full. I don't even know if the girl in them is still alive. I haven't had a chance to stop and check. Not that it matters. Since I know, one way or another, the life is going out of her. But I won't drop Gael to fight Clove.
It's up to Lucy. She fires an arrow at Clove and hits her in the arm. Blood pours out and, shouting in pain, Clove drops the dagger she's been holding. And we're-Lucy and I-both running as fast and hard as we can.
The last voice I hear before we've gotten away, out-distanced them for the time being, is Cato's. He was close at hand. (I'm almost positive the other planned side attack was the girl from District 3.)
Best I can tell, he's angry that Clove has a bloody arm. Though whether it's Clove he's angry at, for not being invincible and getting herself injured, or else Lucy for shooting that arrow into her arm, I can't be sure.
Once we're as safe as we're going to get, I gently sink to the ground and place Gael down.
"She's not-" begins Lucy.
"She is," I say softly, shaking my head. "She's gone, Lu." Gael died in my arms. Sometime during our escape from the hedge maze.
She may have already been dead before we got out through that hole.
But it's not till now, now that I've put her on the ground and am not clinging to her, that the gamemakers allow her cannon to sound, confirming what I've just said to Lucy.
Lucy buries her face in her hands and leans heavily against a tree, shaking with sobs.
My face is soon damp with tears, too.
I already miss Gael. She wasn't with us long, but, stupid as it sounds, having her and Lucy in that cave with me was like having a family-being part of a family-again. Together the three of us weren't so alone anymore. I tell myself over and over again that these are the Hunger Games, any sense of family-like ties, even among allies, can only bring misery and (even more likely) madness. But I can't help it. Just like I can't make the tears on my face dry up or make myself not want to comfort Lucy.
The best I can manage is to kneel there, blinking up at the arena sky, arms pressed hard against my side.
Only, as soon as the seal of Panem appears in the sky, I bow my head, as if on cue.
I will not look 'triumphantly' at the sky when Ash and Gael's pictures appear. I will not look at them shown as nothing more than a face and a district number.
Treated that way, their faces become anybody's face. And Ash and Gael weren't just anybody. Ash didn't belong in the Hunger Games; he was out of his depth. And Gael was too young.
I am too young.
No, I'm not, I'm old enough not to condone this.
Whether I live or die, I can say nothing against the Capitol, but I can do this. I can turn away. I can say, with my body language, that this is not right and I do not accept it willingly.
Lucy must be peeking out at me through her fingers because something seems to strike her when she sees how pointedly I'm looking away from the sky. She swallows hard and runs to the base of a tree where all these little blue flowers are growing. Intently, she begins to pick and gather as many of these as her arms will hold.
Next thing I know, she's at Gael's side, weaving the blue flowers into her hair then placing the one with the longest stem in-between two of the little corpse's dead white fingers. Then she takes the petals off of all the flowers left over and drops them down onto Gael's chest.
Nodding at each other, we link hands and walk away.
We move quickly enough, I suppose, but not as though we're in any particular hurry.
It's as if we're saying (to the hovercraft, to the Capitol), "All right, now you can take her." Now that we've shown she wasn't just another playing piece in their sick games.
Back at the cave, I begin to wonder if I've misjudged Johanna's value as a mentor. Because less than an hour after our return, a basket of roast chestnuts, a strong, smelly wheel of cheese so unprocessed that it could only have come from a rural place like District 7, a bunch of grapes, and a sleeve of fig-filled cookies floats down via parachute.
Sure enough, as I suspect from the first glimpse of the food, the parachute has my district number on it. So I know it wasn't Peter who sent us this.
It's a big basket, enough to feed us for three days. I know it must have cost a fortune for our sponsors to buy us this much food so late in the game. Johanna must have pulled all our resources together for this. Not one, but several, sponsors have paid for this basket.
Darkly, I wonder if the reason the Gamemakers were willing to let Johanna's large gift come through now is because they've gotten the show they wanted, with Ash shooting himself and the youngest career tribute dying in the arms of the poorer tribute who scored an eleven.
We can take three days off. We've given the Capitol audience something to gossip about. And we can just wait like good little tributes till they get bored again and want more blood.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.
"I wish I had my violin here," Lucy says, pulling her knees to her chest.
"What?" I say, my mouth full of roasted chestnuts.
"My violin," she says again. "There was this song, a funeral song... I used to play it all the time when I was first learning. But, then, Peter told me what it meant-and that there were words to it-and I didn't like it so much anymore. Too depressing. But, it is beautiful. I wish I could play it for Gael." She sighs, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. "And Prim and Emeth." Exhaling, she adds, "I feel like I owe them that much."
"They'd never let you," I say. "Even if you had been allowed to have your violin as a token, instead of your locket..." The locket still hanging from my neck. "They would never let you play that song on this show."
Early the next morning, a District 1 labeled parachute lands in front of our cave. A polished violin is strapped to it. This is even more expensive a gift than our basket of food, the one keeping us from leaving the cave to hunt.
Has a sponsor with a soft spot for dead little girls heard Lucy's request for a funeral song in remembrance of her friends and sent it to Peter?
This could not have been a spur of the moment gift. No single sponsor could have paid for this. Which makes me wonder if Peter himself is actually behind this.
I mean, all he'd have to do is lie, "Oh a sponsor sent this," and flash a harmless smile or two at the gamemakers, then play innocent till they let the gift through, unsuspecting.
Of course, if he gets found out, he'll be in a whole lot of trouble.
And, if Lucy plays her funeral song and it moves the stone hearts of the Capitol-bred folk, he'll be blamed even if they can't prove he bought the violin himself. He'll be punished for sending it through in the first place. Because he's the one in charge of all sponsor gift deliveries to his district's tributes.
But, perhaps, he thinks there's nothing worse they can do to him that they haven't already.
His little sister is in the Hunger Games, after all.
Still, I can think of one thing worse they can do to make Peter Pevensie suffer.
They can kill Lucy, make sure she never gets out of this arena alive.
But if they want her, they'll have to go through me. She's my ally. I haven't ended the alliance. They can't kill her off. I won't let them.
Lucy is in tears, stroking the wood of the violin. I watch as she runs her fingers over the strings. I see her lift the bow and begin playing.
I am look-out. My task is to make sure none of the other tributes hear her playing and come this way. In fact, I even walk as far as the stream to make sure no one is in hearing-distance.
They aren't, thankfully.
All I can think is that I've never heard anything so sad and beautiful in my whole life. And, for the first time, I understand what it is Lucy loves about music. It's like something alive yet invisible. Something you can feel as intently as you hear it.
Even though I've heard Tumnus making up songs before, nothing he ever wrote has touched me like Lucy's heartfelt rendition of a simple beginner-level violin tune.
I think back to the day of the reaping, Tumnus and his song about the Hunger Games. I imagine what it would be like if a tribute were to play that here.
Lord Snow would probably have the entire arena blown up before the second verse.
What Lucy's playing now is rebellious enough. What we did with the blue flowers and pointedly looking away from the sky was pretty bad, too. Yet, those things are helping me understand better why Tumnus took the risk of singing that song when he did.
When the song ends and Lucy puts the violin away, neither of us know what to do next. We feel like we've done all we could, but also horribly empty at the same time. At least, I know I do. And I assume from Lucy's dejected face that her thoughts are similar.
Even though it's only midday, we crawl into the sleeping bag together and I wrap my arms around her. It's warm and safe and since we're not hungry we have no reason to leave the cave.
Mostly we're just sort of quiet, listening to the birds chirping outside the cave or the sound of the wind blowing through the nearby trees, but every once in a while we have a whispered conversation.
Lucy tells me that she's always wanted to see the ruins of Cair Paravel. The place that was in charge of Narnia before the Capitol-before Panem. She says it so softly I'm sure the microphones haven't picked it up. And I'm glad of it. The Capitol would have been furious. On the heels of the violin and the flowers, it would have been too much, Career tribute or not, for them to let slide.
"Maybe you will," I reply softly. I think the sound system in our part of the arena has picked my voice up, since it was a little louder than hers, but that's all right. I didn't say anything wrong. I didn't mention Cair Paravel.
On our third (and final) day of staying inside the cave and avoiding any contact with the other tributes, I find myself staring at Lucy.
My opinion of her has changed so much since we first met, even since we first became allies.
I realize now that I want her to win these games. Not me. And that's not even the worst part.
What's the worst part?
I'm in love with her.
No, I think. No, no, no! I don't want to be in love. Not with her. Not with my ally, not with any other tribute in these games.
This doesn't even fit in with anything I am. I'm Edmund Martin, fifteen year old tribute from District 7. Everybody knows I have a life back home. I have a girlfriend. There is nothing for me in this arena. It's nothing but a game. A game I have to win in order to go home.
But I don't see how I can just go home after this. I can't return to my old life. I can't drink with Johanna anymore, because I've learned why she drinks. To blot out the memory of the games. To blot out the dying faces that are far, far worse in person than as seen on the telly every year. I can't act like I care about Anne, because I don't.
Anne Featherstone? My girlfriend? Yeah, here's the thing... I don't even like her anymore.
The old me, the boy who's name was drawn in the reaping, could find some things he enjoyed about being with her. The boy who fell out of the chariot during the opening ceremonies, the boy Caesar Flickerman interviewed, he was less accepting of Anne, more annoyed with her, but he could still pretend he had feelings for her. But the person I've become in the arena can't stand her.
I don't want to be with somebody who thinks even remotely like the Capitol. After all I've seen, how can I possibly court a girl who's idea of a life-threatening disaster is her newest dress being ironed the wrong way by an incompetent maid?
I wish it were Lucy waiting at home for me. That she'd been born in District 7 and we'd met as children. I'm sure, if that had been the case, much as I would have stubbornly resisted at first, once the fact that I loved her crept up on me there, I would have never wanted anybody else. I would have been a better person for it, too. And if I'd seen Lucy cry for me at the reaping, I would have drawn strength from that. I would, right now, want to win more than anything. Not for the fame or wealth. Just so I could see her again. So we could have a chance of ending up together.
Here, in the arena, we're doomed.
Only one of us can win and go home. And no one will ever understand how much it hurts. Because, why should it? We didn't grow up together. We weren't from the same district. We barely knew each other. We are just game pieces. Aside from being allies, what right will either one of us have to mourn the other when this is over?
"Edmund," she says softly, coming over and putting her hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?"
I grasp her wrist and pull her down to my level. "Lucy," I breathe.
"You're crying," she says, her voice full of concern, blinking at me. "And shaking."
I lean forward and press my lips against hers. She seems stunned, but she doesn't pull away or slap me or anything.
One of my arms slips around her waist, holding her tightly. My palm presses against the small of her back. My other hand traces her face and neck with my fingertips. And all the while I'm kissing her over and over again as if I don't ever intend to stop.
Her arms link behind my neck. She's holding onto me, same as I'm holding onto her.
When our lips finally part, she says, sort of bashfully, "I've never been..." Her voice trails off.
Yeah, I sort of figured. Not because boys wouldn't want to kiss her, just because she's so innocent and childlike that it's probably not the first thing boys think of when they meet her.
I mean, come on, I thought she was twelve the first time I saw her.
Also, my guess is Peter would have had a fit (or possibly an aneurysm) if a boy back in District 1 even hinted he was romantically interested in his baby sister.
And if an over-protective brother who was recently seen killing people on television doesn't scare the boys away, trust me, nothing will.
If I'd been born in District 1 and fallen in love with Lucy there, she probably would have had to grow her hair long enough for me to climb up the side of the Pevensies' house by it. Let's just say those Mockingjays of hers wouldn't have been the only frequent morning visitors on her back porch. Because I seriously doubt Peter would have let me anywhere near her under normal circumstances.
But before I can say anything, somehow we're kissing again.
Even though Lucy's not the first girl I've ever kissed, she might as well be. Kissing her feels so different from kissing anyone else. Especially Anne. And, I have to admit, that was actually one of the good parts of my relationship with 'the girlfriend'. Well, except the time she kissed me goodbye after more or less forcing me to take her gold pin with me to the Capitol as my Hunger Games district token. That was just plain annoying. Which was why I let that peacekeeper slam the door in her face. I'd do it all over again, too. Not that Anne Featherstone can take a hint. Somebody disliked something she did? Oh, no, that's quite impossible, apparently. But, anyway, kissing Lucy isn't at all like that. It isn't laced with selfish pleasure or flashes of brief annoyance. It's more like kissing a best friend. Except not creepy.
We don't stop till a voice startles us and we break apart, practically jumping out of our skins.
It takes a second or two, but we finally realize the voice is not a tribute sneaking up on us in our cave. It's an announcement being made to the entire arena. This happens from time to time in the Hunger Games, some years more often than others. Usually to invite tributes to a gathering so the viewers get a better and faster fight.
After three days of an eleven-scoring tribute doing almost nothing but lie in a sleeping bag with his arms around his ally (unless you count when when I was eating, leaving the cave to relieve myself, or just sitting beside Lucy staring at nothing-which I don't, because it's equally boring television programing), this doesn't surprise me.
The novelty of seeing Gael shot and Ash commit suicide over it has officially worn off.
"Congratulations to the remaining contestants of the 77th Hunger Games," the voice booms. "There has been an exciting rule change. If the last two tributes in the arena are from the same district, they can both win. That's right, there can be two victors this year! May the odds be ever in your favor."
Lucy looks at me, a shaky half-smile forming on her face. "There can be two victors, we can both..."
"Lu," I say, swallowing hard, "we're not from the same district, remember?"
The news sinks in. Her expression goes from hopeful to confused to broken-hearted in less than a half-second. She bursts into tears. "Oh, Edmund!"
I can't even look at her. Can't be in the same cave with her. Not after seeing her reaction. I can't handle her pain at realizing that even with a new rule, a new hope, there is still no way we can both live.
As fast as my legs will carry me, I run out of the cave and down to the stream, where I grunt and throw endless pebbles and rocks into the water as forcibly as I possibly can.
Then I press my back against a tree and grit my teeth.
There is no way around what's to come, even though it's the most painful thing I have ever had to do.
I have to end our alliance.
AN: Please Review.