Mora had been waiting patiently for several hours when the Witch came into view. Camouflaged by leaves, twigs, and dirt, hidden behind a thick bush, Mora watched silently. The Witch's left sleeve had been torn off, possibly signifying an injury somewhere that had needed binding. It was the best chance Mora would get.

A fierce battlecry tore from her throat at she broke cover and charged, her pipe raised.

By the time Tarras fully realized what was happening, Mora had closed the distance and was swinging the pipe with all her might. Wild, screaming, with dirt smeared across her face and leaves cluttering her hair, she was almost a different person from the girl who had narrowly avoided death on the first day of the Games. She was already too close for the spear to be useful. Tarras ducked the first swing and leaned out of the way of the second, stepping back to get out of range. Mora followed closely, keeping the distance between them from growing.

Tarras narrowly dodged another swing, then another. Suddenly, Mora's right foot rose and delivered a front kick to Tarras's stomach. With Mora's lack of training, it wasn't very powerful; but it was enough to disrupt Tarras's rhythm. Mora drew back the pipe for a powerful horizontal swing at her opponent's head. With no time to react, Tarras was forced to block by holding out the shaft of the spear with both hands.

The pipe smashed through the wooden shaft with a resounding crack and collided with the side of Tarras's face. If the spear hadn't absorbed most of the pipe's energy, the impact would have killed Tarras instantly. Instead, her world became a blur as she sank to her knees. She had been here before, the brink of consciousness. She knew from experience that the only way to survive was to attack and buy herself time to recover. Her right hand still held the top few inches of the broken shaft, with the blade at the end. She slashed wildly at the spot where she thought Mora was, and felt a little resistance as the blade made a shallow cut into Mora's flesh. Mora, caught off-guard by an opponent she thought as good as dead, jumped back, out of range.

Tarras stood, pointing the spear blade at Mora and dropping the broken shaft. Her legs felt weak, and she couldn't help but wobble as her sense of balance began to return to normal. Pain screamed through the left side of her face. She didn't let it show, but wore a determined look. Mora, unaffected by her opponent's confident demeanor, glared back with an almost wild fury. As Tarras's mind recovered from the impact she had sustained, she came to her senses and remembered her short sword. She passed the spear blade to her left hand and quickly drew the sword with her right. The two circled each other, eyes locked. Inwardly, Tarras was unnerved by Mora's speed. Her reach advantage had been nullified, and for the first time during the Games, she wondered if her training was enough.

Mora started to come forward with a forceful yell, but a stab of Tarras's sword convinced her to back down. Compared to Tarras, her mind was calm and focused. She looked for an opening, but no opportunities stuck out to her. Just as she decided to try another attack, Tarras moved. Her left hand drew back and flung the spear blade at Mora. It tumbled through the air slowly and clumsily, and dodging it was not difficult. As Mora sidestepped it, Tarras backed away, crouching low to the ground, reaching down with her now-free left hand. Mora charged, readying her pipe for another swing. Tarras quickly stood and thrust the jagged, broken edge of the spear shaft into her face.

The many little points of the shattered wood pierced Mora's right eye, causing an anguished cry to escape her lips. She backed away, her right hand rising to cover her bleeding, now-useless eye. Instinct took over, and she turned her back to Tarras. Tarras moved to close the distance, sensing the kill, but Mora ran, prompting her to chase her opponent. When Mora realized how closely Tarras was following her, she suddenly stopped and swung her pipe as she turned, narrowly missing Tarras's face. Tarras stabbed with her blade, but Mora sidestepped it. Tarras followed up with another jab of the broken shaft. Mora smacked it away with her pipe.

The opening Tarras had been waiting for showed itself. She plunged her blade through Mora's stomach.

Mora stumbled back a step. She looked down in disbelief at the blade, nearly hilt-deep in her flesh. She looked back up at Tarras, the same stunned look on her face. Then, still clutching her pipe, she turned and ran as quickly as she could. Thinking quickly, Tarras drew her throwing knives and sunk them into Mora's retreating back, one by one. Mora didn't appear to notice. Tarras let her go; after all, with her wounds, she could only get so far. Tarras looked around to locate her pack before realizing she had never tossed it aside; it had been on her back the whole time, slowing her down. With a sigh, she dropped the broken shaft and walked in the direction that she'd seen Mora go.

Mora felt incredibly weak, but she drew out every last ounce of strength to carry her farther away from The Witch. Hot blood ran down her torso and soaked both the front and back of her brown pants; it started to make its way down her furiously-pumping legs. Every movement elicited pain in the knife wounds in her back, but she kept going. At last, what seemed to be her last iota of energy ebbed away from her, and she collapsed onto her hands and knees, her face wet with tears.

With her right hand, she reached up and plucked the three knives out of her flesh one by one. Then she sat on the ground and looked down at the hilt of the blade in her stomach. With both hands, she slowly drew it out. She set it aside and stared down at the gaping hole in her torso, watching as the life flowed from her. Already, she could feel her senses numbing, and a heavy mist seemed to weigh down her thoughts. She closed her good eye for a moment to rest.

Tarras found her moments later. Mora seemed to be dead, but no cannon had sounded. As Tarras stepped into the open, Mora's head turned toward her. Both her eyes were closed, and the right side of her face was covered in blood from her eye. Her mouth opened slightly, and for a moment, all was still. She spoke a single word, one Tarras didn't recognize: "Jerall?" A name.

Then Mora's left eye fluttered open and focused on Tarras. "Oh… it's you."

For reasons she couldn't explain, the words sent chills down Tarras's spine. Mora took a deep, ragged breath. Her voice was quiet and rough. "Tell Jerall… I love him, and I'm sorry. Tell him… t-tell…"

Her left eye started to close. It flew open in a moment of last resistance; finally, the eyelid slowly shut. The rolling boom of a cannon went off in the distance.

Tarras was finding it extremely difficult to maintain her stoic outward demeanor. She had no idea why now, of all times, in front of this girl whose face was covered in dirt and blood, she was so close to breaking down. She knew she couldn't remain near the corpse much longer. The cameras were watching. She retrieved her knives and strode away through the underbrush, fighting every urge to turn and take one last look at the girl from District 8.