We hit 9 reviews for last chapter! Nine! I'm still in shock here!

I haven't had chance to reply to every single review, like I usually do. But I promise that every single one hasn't failed to make me grin like a maniac. Thank you all :).


We alternate watching and sleeping throughout the night. As the sun rises, I find that I'm the one on watch. Haymitch is curled up in a little ball in front of the tree, one arm threaded protectively through the backpack's straps. I wonder if he realises he's doing it.

It's actually kind of sweet. Not that I'm about to tell him that. That'd be creepy.

Out of the blue, I have a rather devious little plan. It's nothing compared to what he did yesterday i.e. removing the roof from above my head, so I think I'm the good person here still. Even I did kill Baxter.

I shake my head to dislodge that thought from it before it takes me down a path I'll regret ever walking down.

With a sly smirk, I pick up a handful of leaf debris from the floor. On tiptoe, I creep up to Haymitch. I'm not silent, by any means- I'd never stepped into a forest before the Games, remember? I try to kid myself that I'm giving him plenty of chance to wake up before I reach him, here. Still, the sleeping Seam boy doesn't shift. Perfect.

Slowly, slowly, I lower myself down into a kneeling position and inch my hands, which are cradling the broken leaves and twigs carefully, towards him. He doesn't stir.

Quickly, before I lose my chance, I pull my hands apart and rub the leaves into his dark hair. Before he can fully analyse the situation, I stand up and dash a few steps backwards.

Spitting out a few of the pieces of leaf that got into his mouth, Haymitch sits up. He tosses the backpack away with disgust (which is sad; they looked so cute together!) and looks around, confused, for just a second.

Cautiously, almost like he's scared of what he'll find, he raises a hand to his hair. It comes away with a twig between its fingers. From the look on his face, he knows that's not all there is to it. He glares at me.

"You have a twig in your hair." I echo his first words to me from yesterday morning. However, unlike him, I can't say it with a straight face. The last word has barely left my mouth before I burst out laughing.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" He grumbles, standing up and running his hands through his hair in an attempt to dislodge all the forest debris. Haymitch Abernathy, it seems, can be quite the diva when he wants to be.

"Maybe slightly." I manage to force out.

He stoops, picks up a handful of leaves, and throws them at me. I bat most of them away before they hit me in the face, but I feel one or two land in my hair. I reach up to pick them out, my fingers brushing the Alice-band plait just briefly. Rosalia must be watching now; the viewing is mandatory, after all. What was it she said to do? 'Run the hell out of there', I think. Well, I did, and I'm still here. I guess I owe her one.

"Haymitch." I growl as I toss the leaves from my hair to the floor. "You're going to regret that."

"Really?" And, there's the smirk. I was worried for a minute there; he can't usually go so long without it.

"Really." I confirm, lowering myself to scoop up a handful of leaves as I speak. I stand and throw aforementioned handful at Haymitch.

It erupts into a full-blown leaf fight pretty quickly. I realise with a smile that this certainly isn't the kind of 'battle' the Gamemakers had in mind when designing the Arena. After five minutes, we're both covered in leaves. Haymitch has them protruding from various angles in his curly dark hair, and I'll bet that I have my own fair share too.

"You have a-" I begin.

"Twig in my hair?" Haymitch interrupts before I can finish. "Yeah, I noticed. You too, while we're on the subject of twigs in hair."

"You're too kind." I retort sarcastically. "Honestly, Mr. Abernathy, what would I do without you?"

"I've got no idea." He smirks. "We should get moving."


We keep walking most of the morning, the leaf fight nothing but a memory I'm not sure I can trust. Haymitch seems so serious; a completely different person to the one that was rubbing leaves into my hair not four hours ago.

I'm pondering this when he stops suddenly. Unfortunately, I don't notice this and walk into his back. He looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. To which my response is to roll my eyes and act casual. It's totally normal to walk into peoples' backs. Especially when they, I don't know, stop right in your way!

I open my mouth to speak, but his hand clamps over it pretty quickly. I narrow my eyes in as intimidating a glare I can manage, but his hand remains put. He looks around, listening intently. It reminds me a little of a wild deer; cautious, observant, ready to fight or to flee at any given moment.

I've only seen a deer once; a live deer, at any rate. There are some, uh, illegal Seam poachers who I've seen making their way to the Hob before now with dead deer slung over their shoulders. Normally on the days when the Peacekeepers are occupied with... Things... Usually whippings, I must say. Anyway, the live deer got under the fence and into the meadow somehow when I was twelve. It scratched itself up a little- the fence isn't exactly smooth. Anise tried her best to clean it up, even named it 'Bambi' after some bedtime story her dad used to tell her. When the Peacekeepers came along and said they had to kill it 'in case it was dangerous' (Worst. Excuse. Ever.), she burst into tears.

It's then that I hear what Haymitch must've sensed coming (He must have heard scratching or something.); a scream. It rings my ears so much that I fear I might get a headache. What can cause a scream like that?

A boy runs out in front of us, hunched over. I feel the muscle in Haymitch's arm twitch, like he's debating whether or not to make a move. He chooses not to and we stay put, watching.

I recognise him… He was that boy who tried to persuade Laura not to drink from the river on Day 1. The other girl… Caroline, I think? Well, she's not with him. She must've died, and this boy's not been fortunate enough to find another alliance. He truly is alone. If I'd been left alone after Betony, I don't think I'd have been able to cope much longer.

He looks up at us and I feel my stomach lurch. Deep, bloody scratches criss-cross his face. Some, indeed, look small and fairly unnoticeable. Others… I think I can see a bit of bone on the right of his face.

"What happened?" Haymitch asks. I would ask a similar question myself, but he still has his hand clamped over my mouth. "Who did this?"

"S… S…" The boy struggles to get out. "Squirrels."

"Squirrels?" Haymitch repeats, puzzled.

I can't say I blame him; squirrels are cute and fluffy. It isn't until I remember the scary-looking squirrels, the ones that bare their teeth and growl at you, that I realise what might be going on here.

I drop the backpack to the floor by my feet and use both hands to wrestle Haymitch's hand away from my mouth.

"Don't be too loud, you." He scolds. "We don't want people to find us."

"I know the squirrels he might mean!" I explain quickly. "They growl and bare their teeth."

Haymitch opens his mouth (probably to counter that with something witty), but the other boy gets there first.

"That's them. There was one, and I ignored it. Same when a second showed up, and a third. Before I realised I was in danger, there was at least a dozen of them."

"How did you escape?" I ask curiously.

"I ran." He glances over his shoulder hastily. "But they're coming."

As if on cue, a fluffy golden squirrel bounces out from the bushes that the boy had just dashed through. It would be adorable, did it not have teeth and claws stained with human blood.

A second squirrel jumps out and stands beside it.

"Run." The boy warns, adding far more hastily, "Quick, run!"

"What about you?" I ask, already stooping to grab the backpack from the floor.

"Just run!" He shouts as a third and fourth squirrel join their fellows.

I grab Haymitch's arm and run as fast as I can. It doesn't take long for him to co-operate, running alongside me. He's not as fast as me, but he's not exactly slow either.

We're not very far when I hear that familiar crazed growling; the squirrels are readying to attack. I hope that guy got away.

Actually… I'm not sure I am… One less person, right?

I feel like a monster.

BANG!

The cannon interrupts my train of thought, and I subconsciously slow. Haymitch uses my grip on his arm to jerk me forwards a little, reminding me just what sort of situation we're in. I sprint past him, dragging him along a little.


When we finally stop running, he isn't very happy. In fact, he seems pretty angry. I've since released his arm, and taken a few decent sized steps away from him. This way, I can watch in relative safety whilst he kicks leaves in the air and grumbles swear words.

"What is the matter with you?" I ask eventually.

He looks a little shocked for a moment, like he forgot I'm here. He probably did. Idiot. "We must've come at least half a mile back."

"So?"

"What do you mean so?" He kicks another cluster of leaves into the air, ignoring it when one or two settle in his hair.

"Precisely that." I insist. It takes a moment for it to click into place. "Wait… This about your whole," I adopt a low voice which is, undeniably, not Haymitch's. At all. "We need to keep moving," Normal voice. "Thing, isn't it?"

"Great." Haymitch comments sarcastically. "You could be a detective, Maysilee."

"Haymitch!" I all but yell; don't want to draw Pixie to us, do I? "Will you please snap out of it?"

"You had a whole day of depression. Don't see how I'm any different to you."

"You haven't just killed your babysitter!" I actually shout. The birds in the trees above us flee at the sudden outburst, shaking the branches above us and showering a cascade of leaves over us.

I turn to the tree behind me and rest my head against it. This conversation is going nowhere, and I need to calm down before I do something I'll regret i.e. attack Haymitch. He'd win, no contest.

"Hey, Mays," He says from behind me in a far more gentle way than the sarcastic grumbling from a few seconds ago.

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead, I squeeze them shut. "What?"

"Feel like splitting that beef jerky for dinner? I'm hungry."

Opening my eyes, I turn to face him. My fingers are still loosely gripping the rucksack's handle.

He smiles brightly. Honestly, his whole face lights up.

I throw the backpack at him. "Knock yourself out."

He sits with his back against the tree, rucksack in his lap, and pats the space next to him. I trudge over, still pretending to be angry when really we both know I'm just stubborn, and sit down beside him.

Beef jerky for dinner. My mother would kill me.