A/N: Okay guys!
This is the last Chapter before our favourite Ivy Trio meet for the first time.
I know people are excited to see Minho appear, believe me i have been so buggin' excited writing it, i've had his entrance written since i posted the first Chapter. Minho will be in the next Chapter. (I am literally fangirling. Who doesn't love Minho!?)

Anyway, thanks as always to those who comment/review. I LOVE to hear what you like about Chapters, and i am open to any and all criticism. If i'm doing a bad job, or something jumps out at you please let me know.

Happy Reading!


Chapter Thirteen

As they inspected their supplies, the Glader boys discussed where they thought the Arena was at. Thomas recounted everything he'd seen in the BloodBath, from the screamer who had fallen to the tribute he'd seen stay grounded behind Brenda. He stuttered over the recollection of the girl, and Newt felt his heart fall as Thomas explained he hadn't been able to get his bow from his shoulder, had dropped his knives.

He'd killed her with just an arrow.

Doing so had really shaken him up, and Newt couldn't think of anything that would be remotely comforting about that fact. Added to the screaming they had heard in the trees and they estimated that they could rely on at least four deaths, even though they were sure there were more. The cannon wouldn't go until Midnight that night, when the sky would clear to show them all who wouldn't be leaving the deathtrap that was the Arena.

The contents of Newt's pack were pretty basic. He took each out carefully, placing them in a neat pile. He had a length of thin, pleated rope with small hooks on either end, an empty water bottle, a flat plane of shimmery material that revealed itself to be a swathe of clear film when Newt picked at the corner. He guessed it was for wrapping food in.

There was also a tiny metal compass and a little white plastic bottle like what the better medic in the Glade had imported from the Capitol. There was no label, but when he opened the lid to look inside at the little black tablets Thomas answered his unspoken question.

"I think they're for water. To clean it for drinking."

Newt flashed him a look, a relieved smile on his lips. Thomas looked like he'd had better luck with his own rucksack.

It was the one he'd taken from her, the flat panel that had rested against her back was still damp from where her blood had soaked through. Thomas tried not to think about it as he copied Newt's process, taking each item out quickly, eager to take stock and replace them all in case they had to move in a hurry.

He'd the same rope as Newt, and not one but two identical little pill bottles, but none of the filmy stuff. He had an identical water bottle but his was full, and he tossed it over to Newt with a grin. The grateful smile the blonde shot him made his heart leap.

They could do this. He just had to keep believing that.

He too had a compass, an odd little thing in dull metal and red, with white scripture inside. His pack had a bundle of material that was almost identical to that of their clothing, and when he unravelled it all he was pleased to see it was a lightweight sleeping bag. When he lay it on the mossy ground beside him he was even more pleased. It didn't disappear or anything like that, but it seemed to reflect the green around it, making it almost look like it was part of the forest floor. When he looked to Newt the blonde was staring at it with a fascinated expression.

"Now that is brilliant." Newt breathed.

Thomas thought that was a fair enough assessment. At the bottom of his rucksack he found a small cardboard square with little black things that filled him with optimism, and a small pocketknife. The latter he gave to Newt along with one of the knives he'd picked up earlier.

"They gave us flints." he said excitedly, looking up to meet Newt's matching stare.

"Well i'll be… That's buggin' marvellous, Tommy!"

Thomas chuckled, slotting the little square carefully back into the pack, his grin wide and relieved.

"We might just stand a chance yet." he said softly, thanking whoever had packed the rucksack for giving him the stronger possibility of keeping the precious blonde safe. The very last item in his pack surprised Thomas while making his stomach growl loudly.

In his palm lay a fat rectangular energy bar. He recognised it as the same type that had been present in the Food Carriage on the train, and in their suite at the Training Facility. He remembered that the one he'd tried out of curiosity had tasted ridiculously sweet, but had been deceptively filling. He tossed it over to his friend, trading it for the water bottle. He took a small swig from as he watched Newt break open the bar. As Newt carefully halved it Thomas rolled the sleeping bag back up.

The water was soothing and cool, and he was tempted to drink more than he did. But they'd need it. The body of water he'd seen was bound to be where everyone would head, and it'd be dangerous to go. He had to hope that there was a water-source somewhere in the forestry, because if not then tributes were going to die at an alarming rate.

When they'd re-packed their rucksacks - putting the water in Thomas's pack and the tablets in Newt's - and shared the energy bar between them they stood. An air of anticipation had settled over them and Newt looked at him expectantly. Somehow it seemed natural for Thomas to lead, even though he felt Newt was the calmest. Newt followed him quietly through the trees, and the only comfort Thomas could think of was that at least this time he had company while he crept around on high alert.

The walked for an hour, maybe more, before the trees began to thin out. It was gradual, and Newt didn't notice at first. But eventually he realised that they had passed two clearings in as many minutes, small areas of inviting flat mossy ground between the imposing trunks. He wondered if they were designed specifically to attract tributes to camp out. They seemed the most logical place so far, the only more interesting prospect he could think of the buildings in the sandy section.

There was a rustling up ahead and Thomas dropped into a crouch, his arm flying up instantly to pull his surprised companion down, the other hand reaching for his bow.

Newt had always been impressed by Thomas's archery skills, which were much better than his own, and it had always been something he'd found embarrassingly attractive about him. He didn't really know why, just that the elegance that the brunette displayed, the precision, the concentration… It was striking and beautiful, and Newt's heart constricted at the thought that it would soon be tainted by killing. He watched Thomas fit the arrow against the string, raising what had once been a hobby and was now a weapon.

They were still and silent, crouching close together as they listened to the noise. Newt was see-sawing between the belief that he was imagining things and the hope that it was just an animal. Something flashed up ahead and Thomas barely twitched, sending the arrow in his fingers flying in a disturbingly graceful flight. He heard the muffled sound as it slid easily through flesh. He heard the surprised and frenzied flapping as the target fell. Before Newt had even registered what Thomas had hit the boy had sent another arrow into the air, and was rewarded with the same stomach-churning tearing sound.

He watched Thomas creep forward, the bow still in his hand but arrowless. Thomas reached behind the tree, and Newt felt a heartbeat of fear as he almost disappeared from view. But then he was looking back at Newt and grinning, his face flushed with accomplishment as he held his kill up for him to see.

"Fancy duck for dinner?" the brunette teased in a relieved breathlessness.

Newt relaxed, his quiet chuckle warming the air as Thomas came back over.

"So they don't want us to buggin' starve, then." he replied, watching as Thomas set to work retrieving his arrows.

The birds were fat and quite big for ducks, and the boys made curious small talk about them as they moved to one of the little clearings. They didn't really need to talk about what they were doing, both setting to work collecting the driest twigs they could find, stripping them of their soft greenery and bark as best they could. Thomas rooted around looking for stones as Newt cleared a small circle of moss, using the penknife to sever roots and help him turn over the soil underneath. They worked quietly, and even though they'd never built a fire outside of their own homes they did a fair enough job.

Newt sat back to clean the blade of the penknife as he watched Thomas arranging the little pieces of wood, packing them into the ring of stones. They'd agreed it best to get the ducks cooked quickly while it was still light, the fire as small as they could reasonably make it so as to try not to attract attention.

"We'd better be fast." Thomas murmured as he set to work with one of the precious little flints from his pack.

"And lucky." he replied, deeming the blade clean enough to start stripping the first bird.

He'd had to prepare food like this from an early age, and as Thomas sat back to see to the second bird Newt smiled fondly at him. Thomas had performed the task before, of course, but he was watching how Newt did it, mimicking him as they sat side by side with their backs against a particularly large tree trunk.

"I'm glad we're here together." Thomas murmured after a while, when they were separating the ducks into cookable portions.

Newt looked over, finding those honey-brown eyes on him. Thomas had stopped what he was doing, looking at Newt shyly, clearly conflicted. He smiled at him.

"Me too, Tommy."

They went back to the task at hand. The fire had started up, the dry twigs producing a thankfully small coil of pale smoke. Newt was slotting pieces of flesh onto long sticks he'd stripped, placing the first two over the flames when Thomas spoke again. They'd lain a small square of Newt's film over the forest floor between them and Thomas was setting the clean pieces of pale duck onto it.

"I'm still sort of mad that you're not safe at home, but… I- well." he broke off with a small snort and a shrug.

Newt reached over and squeezed his arm.

"I know."

Thomas smiled but he didn't look up, continuing to strip the duck. The duck cooked reasonably easily, and just short of an hour later they were finishing up. Thomas kicked the loose dirt over the flames, kicking the stones around to try and hide the evidence of a fire. Newt set to work wrapping the duck in pieces of film he'd cut carefully from the bundle.

"I'm going to scout a bit, see how near the water we are. Maybe won't be too far if the ducks are wandering about."

Newt looked up, fear gripping him at the thought of having Thomas out of sight. Thomas was looking at him, his grip relaxed around his bow. Newt's heart missed a beat as the familiar feeling of affection flooded him. It swelled painfully as though taunting him for allowing Thomas to own his heart. Right then Thomas was possibly the most gorgeous he'd ever seen him. He wondered if he felt like that because they were surrounded by the possibility of death.

He opened his mouth to tell Thomas to be careful, to come back, to not die. He opened his mouth to tell him not to go, not to leave him behind. It seemed his mouth had other ideas.

"I love you."