I don't get as much time to recover as I would have liked, but in the arena, it's move or die. So I choose to move. I still feel a little dizzy from my vomiting and my tears but I try not to make it noticeable; keeping my movements smooth and steady like usual, instead of curling into a ball like I want to do. Cato knows we should move on, eagerly agreeing to my suggestion, but he sees my unease and places his hand lightly to the small of my back as if to steady me.
I do feel a little better with his fingers pressed to my back; his touch has always been a welcome thing to me, but I still feel like our day has been in vain. We visited Thresh, I snort at my own use of the word 'visited' making it seem like we went for tea rather than in an attempt to kill him. Either way, he's still out there, and he knows we're not strong enough to kill him. I grind my teeth in an effort to keep more tears brimming over my lashes. How are we going to do this?
Cato and I are strong and brave, especially as a team, but our efforts today proved that it's not enough. Then there are the other tributes left to contend with. The sneaky red-head girl from five is still out there; I haven't seen her since the games started, which makes me think her tactic is to evade rather than fight, but who knows what she could have been up to? She could have been bumping off tributes on her own for all I know. Then there's Twelve. Peeta is not a threat; it's a miracle that he's still alive, that or some very generous sponsors. In any case, he won't be able to fight us off. Katniss is more difficult; she has done very well so far, but she too has been running rather than attacking. But she got an eleven in training, so she must be good. Though if she were protecting Peeta that would leave her more vulnerable, I hope.
I am torn between classic career arrogance, believing the other tributes don't stand a chance against Cato and me and a crippling fear that we are too weak to win. I don't know what Cato is thinking, I haven't dared ask him.
We make camp in a tiny cave we find; it's more of a burrow really, barely fitting the two of us inside. We have to curl up very close to fit and even then the space is claustrophobic, but it offers some protection from the elements and from prying eyes. It will do for the night.
We don't make a fire, too scared that we will draw unwanted attention to ourselves. Instead we sit so close that I'm practically on Cato's lap and settle for staying warm that way. His arms lock protectively around my body and I rest my head against his wide chest, listening to the thrumming of his heart. The rhythm and heat are lulling me to sleep when a trumpet call jerks me awake and sends us scurrying out to hear the announcement.
It's Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, inviting us to a feast at the Cornucopia tomorrow morning. I deliberate for a second, we have limited food left and feasts are a good chance to bump off some of the competition, but it is risky. A bloodbath could go either way for us. However my decision is already made before he continues; we are careers, we don't hide, we fight.
"This is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," The voice cuts out and Cato and I exchange a glance before retreating to our burrow.
"We're going," I say. It isn't a question, I know Cato wouldn't back down from opportunity like this and neither would I, even if we could afford to. Cato nods, a glint returning to his eye. He thinks we're back in the game. He isn't as bothered by our failure today as I am. I sigh as I lean back into his chest.
"What do you think is in our pack?" He murmurs against my hair and his arms lock around me.
"Something to help us kill the others, or something to prevent them from killing us," I say though I'm not entirely sure. "We already have our weapons though, so I don't know what it could be,"
"Worth having though," Cato replies, "And it might give us a chance to kill one of them there and then," I shift in his lap to look up at him.
"So what's the plan? Both go in there? Grab our pack and run, grab the other's packs and wait for them to follow us?" I throw questions at him and his eyebrows furrow in concentration and anxiety.
"I don't know," He admits with a frown.
"I'm the faster runner," I begin and cast him a look when I see that he's about to interrupt. "Don't argue, we both know it. I'll go in, grab our pack and see what happens. You stay in the tree line and try and catch anyone who comes into the clearing through the woods." It's not an excellent plan, but with something as uncertain as this I don't know how we can improve it. Cato looks unhappy with the plan but I press my finger to his lips before he can say anything.
His lips are chapped and dry from our time in the arena but they still feel like the most perfect thing in the world. They part slightly beneath my touch and his long eyelashes brush his cheeks as he tries to watch.
"Cato," I say quietly and his eyes flicker up to look into mine; blue on green, seeing each other the way no one else ever sees us. They see us as the hard, cruel fighters. Skilled, but unfeeling, scary. But we are more, we do feel, we love. I swallow whatever I was going to say, I can't remember anyway, and replace my finger with my lips in a kiss.
He welcomes it at first, kissing me back with vehemence, his lips moving over mine with ease and his strong arms pushing me even closer to him, though it's hardly possible. Then he stops and sighs against my cheek.
"Clove," He whispers, his voice deep and full of worry, "I don't want to lose you,"
"You won't," I frown, "I'm with you, always," Then I move my hands from his chest and place them around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair, drawing him back to my face. Our kiss is passionate, hungry and I want more. I don't want to stop kissing him ever but everything could change tomorrow, I know we should sleep.
It feels like the night before the games all over again; falling asleep in his arms and listening to him cry when he thinks I can't hear. The shudders of his chest make it hard for me to sleep but I don't mention it. When I do sleep it is absent of dreams and interrupted all too soon when Cato rouses me, whispering that dawn is just around the corner.