Someone's coming up. I can hear their labored breaths, the occasional high-pitched "Ooof!", the scratching sound of the vines rubbing against the stone.
Who is it?
I run through the tributes in my head. Helio and Wren aren't going to try to kill us, Anthem and Patrick, possibly, Ptarmigan, definitely, Paloma, probably not.
"Do you hear that?" Henry asks. He nervously picks up the board. It's worked pretty well for us, though the first time was nerve-wracking, the way it wobbled. Henry laughed at me as I skittered across on my butt, but he wasn't that cocky when it was his turn. But we've made steady progress across the arena. I'm beginning to understand the shape of the stones. They're arranged in rows that are all connected. Like a line of dominos, really. If you knock one over, the rest will come tumbling down.
"Yeah, I hear that." I reach for my staff that's swung over my shoulder. Better just face it directly.
"Get behind me," I instruct. And I peer over the edge.
It's Paloma.
She's about a yard from the top, her fingers knotted in the vines. Her eyes widen when she sees me staring at her.
"Guess you better come on up," I say, trying to be as casual as possible, reaching down my hand.
"Who is it?" Henry whispers, trying to crane his neck for a better look.
"Shut up," I whisper back.
"Shut up? I can't remember any tribute named Shut Up."
I roll my eyes and hoist Paloma up. She barely weighs anything.
Henry stumbles back. "What are you doing here?"
Paloma's eyes dart nervously between us. "I-I need help. Please. They killed Grandpapa, and I'm running out of food."
"Well, you can't have any of our food," Henry says rudely.
"Shut up, Henry!"
I turn back to Paloma. She's so tiny. Her collarbones jut out, and her knees are knobby.
"You need food?"
She nods eagerly.
"What are you doing?" Henry hisses.
"One second," I say, holding up a finger. "Henry, come here."
I drag him away down the stone.
"Oriole, this is insane. There's eight of us left. Eight. What, are we going to do like Aimee did? Huh?"
I want to slap him. "Henry, she's twelve years old. And starving."
He sticks his chin out, brown eyes blazing. "So we give her some food and send her on her merry way so she can be gutted by some other tribute or a muttation?
"Are you proposing we kill her?"
"No!" he says defensively. "But I thought it was too late for allies. Because Helio and Wren left…" His voice trails off. Poor kid. But that's life, and these are the Games, and friendships get torn apart by muttations.
"How about this: We give her food for information, and she can stay one night. And we don't kill her. After that, we can go our separate directions." I keep my gaze firm, but inside, my heart is being torn to pieces. She's twelve. Twelve. What am I doing?
But it's her or Henry, and I have to pick Henry.
We walk back over to Paloma. I keep my chin up.
"Alright. We've decided that we'll give you some food and you can stay with us for one night. And in return, we'd like some information. Okay?"
She nods, her head bobbling on her tiny neck like a baby bird. I fish in the packs and pull out some stale bread. She gobbles it up. How long has it been since she last ate?
"Okay," I say determinedly. "First question. How did you survive so long?"
She looks at me blankly.
"I mean, how did you make it to the final eight? District 10's always an underdog, and you're just twelve."
Paloma sucks in a breath. "We hid," she says softly. "We ran from the Cornucopia without getting any supplies. And then we found some water, and whenever we heard anything, we hid in the vines."
"So…" I say, not wanting to ask my next question. I have to, though. "Then how did your grandfather die?"
Her dark brown eyes lower and well with tears. "W-we were a-ambushed," she sniffles. "And then he told me to run, so I ran."
"Who ambushed you?" I say steadily.
She wipes her eyes. "The ones from Six."
Anthem and Patrick. Brother and sister, just like we are. Though they never seemed to like each other. I never would have pegged them for targeting the weakest tributes, though. But you can never tell, can you?
"How were they armed?"
She blinks her huge brown eyes, trying to remember. "A spear and a knife, I think. It was all so fast."
"And where was it?"
Paloma peers over the arena. "Towards the west, I think. There's a waterfall there. Oh, it's right there." She points, and I follow her small brown hand. I can just make out the faintest glimmer of a waterfall.
"Thank you," I say.
Paloma glances between me and Henry, slouched over with his arms crossed. "Wh-where are you going?"
"Dunno," Henry grunts, scuffing the ground with his shoe.
"We're trying to find the pattern of the arena. And where the row of stones start," I explain. "So we're heading east."
She nods. "Let's go," I say abruptly. It's best to keep going. So we travel the rest of the day, traveling across the long winding row of stones. Paloma is surprisingly good at traveling, stepping gracefully across the dizzying gaps. We don't talk much. Henry is clearly still mad at me, and Paloma's too shy. And then there's the three cannons, bang bang bang, and no one wants to discuss those.
At night, we hunker down and eat dinner. And then comes the anthem and the faces in the sky.
"No," I whisper, pressing my hand over my mouth. "No! It's not fair!"
But these are the Games. Nothing is fair.
