PART I. BEGINNING.
CHAPTER 5. PROMISES.

This chapter introduces ... three important characters. No, Raven doesn't count. And I promise that everyone who enters Fawn's goodbyes has a place in the plot line. They are not just extras. Nope, they all become important in their own time!

~BTCS~

Somewhere, far away, is a girl named Fawn Dogwood. She lives in a hut with her mother and two sisters. She cuts down trees and climbs snowy hills to keep her family fed. Somewhere far away are those she calls friends and those she calls Peacekeepers. Somewhere far away is the boy she lives, with the bright green eyes and the happy, dazzling dreams. She makes sacrifices for those she loves. She would do anything for them. And now, she is paying the price. She is going to die somewhere far, far away.

Somewhere far away is District 7 and Panem.

So I think as I walk towards the Justice Building, at least thirty Peacekeepers patrolling about to make sure I don't try anything stupid like running away. Tributes have tried this before. The farthest that anyone has made it is the end of the block. Raven walks beside me, eyes fixed on the paving stones. Is he thinking of running, too? Every instinct I possess is telling me to, but I restrain myself, studying my fellow tribute carefully. Is he used to walking on the cold, hard stones that he stares at so intently? Their smooth, slippery surface is something I feel only when visiting Redwood. No, this place is not for me - I belong in the cold, snowy, pine-filled hills, where the land is distinctly living.

River doesn't glance at me or the Peacekeepers, appearing to be lost in his own thoughts. I think of how we haven't exchanged any words but for our eyes meeting, once, if that could be called speaking. I feel strangely bonded with him. We are both tributes to these horrendous Hunger Games. Though I don't know him, he will be all I have of home in a few weeks. If he's even alive. Of course, I should keep the unfamiliarality between us. The less we know each other, the easier it will be in the arena.

So I don't say a word to him as Peacekeepers show us our separate rooms where we will say our goodbyes to our families. In some faraway districts, only an hour is allotted for tributes to say their goodbyes because their Reapings are later in the day, and they have farther to travel to the Capitol. But here, in District 7, we are one of the two districts sharing borders with the Capitol. We have two hours to say our goodbyes, and another hour at the train station during which we will be filmed and possibly interviewed, if we are obliging, before we head to the Capitol. And even then, we are earlier than the other tributes, giving us more time with our stylists before the Opening Ceremonies.

I sit on the pale blue silken couch, wondering how long I will have to wait before my visitors are allowed in. Who will come to see me? Who have I already seen for the last time? I'm still managing to hold back my emotions, which is good, because there are suspicions that the Goodbyes are recorded and shown in the Capitol. Of course, not to the other tributes. It may reveal a secret that could change the course of the Games.

But when my mother, Aria, and Creta enter through the door that holds District 7, I come whizzing back to myself and my horrible emotions. My family don't move as the Peacekeepers shut the door behind them, telling us that we have fifteen minutes together. Our last ever. We stay motionless, staring at each other, memorizing every small detail, until Creta lets out a dry sob and launches herself at me. The couch rocks back at the impact, but I don't care. Her face is in my shoulder, her sobs rebounding in my ear, her tears staining my hair. I automatically bring up my hand to stroke her back, whispering condolences that are lies. Everything will be okay. Don't worry, I'm fine. Everything is fine.

I glance up to see Aria's tears are falling freely and my mother is silent and staring. A single tear runs down her cheek. Always, the sight of their worry for me made me worry for them, and now, at the sight of their sadness, I become overwhelmed with emotion. I'm not sad for myself; those tears are yet to come. No, I'm sad for them with the sorry fate of watching me die. Their grief absolutely engulfs me in sorrow for their troubles. The tears stream down my face without permission, but I am too engulfed in sorrow for their grief to notice much. Aria and Mom come over without another moment of hesitation, curling up beside me as we cry and cry for each other's fate. I can't stop touching them - Aria's hair, my mother's hand, Creta's back, heaving with sobs. I'm trying my best to remember everything about them, as I know they are doing for me. Well, good. Their memories will last longer than mine, anyway.

Peacekeepers enter to take them away, but my mother begs through her tears for five minutes, just five minutes. Regretfully, the Peacekeepers agree to the extension and withdraw again.

I take my mother's face in my hands, perhaps more harshly than I would normally, and study her eyes. Hers, dark like Aria's, lock on mine, and we spend a few breathless seconds this way. Finally, I gasp out, "Keep them alive." and she nods, knowing I mean Aria and Creta, understanding my desperation. Without my lumberjack and scouting wages, as well as the tesserae I take, they will be much worse with money. Aria will have to take tesserae and work full time. Creta may have to work, too. But there will be one less mouth to feed.

"Aria." I turn to my sister with her big, solemn eyes so like my mother's, still leaking tears, and, again, I marvel at how old she has gotten. How did I let our precious time together slip away? "You'll have to work. You'll have to be strong for me."

She nods, taking my hand and squeezing it tightly. "Even when the television is on," she promises me, breathlessly. "Especially then. I'll be strong. I won't look away. Don't worry."

"No," I tell her, shaking my head forcefully. "Don't watch those last minutes. Don't let Creta or Mom, either. Don't ... don't watch me die." The words are an effort to get out and tears are shed at them around me, but I need them to know what I want. If they watch, they'll never be able to stop. But I know that I am scaring them, so I soften. "If money gets hard, go to the Troop," I address Aria, biting my lip. I don't want her out in the dangerous wild without me, but the Troop will protect her. "They won't forget you're my sister. Young as you are, they'll find a spot for you."

Aria nods through streaming tears as though through a thick lace curtain. The kind we could never afford to haul around, because they'd just get torn. "I won't forget you either." she promises me and I don't reply because part of me is selfishly glad and part wishes she would live on in peace.

I approach my smallest sister as I would any normal day, by opening my arms. She flies into them and stays there, promising to be strong, even though I don't ask her too. "Oh, Creta," I mutter to her. "Make them happy. Keep them happy. Will you do that for me?"

She blinks away buckets of tears, pulling away and nodding eagerly. "Anything for you, Fawn. Anything for you." And then I'm pulling them all close again, telling them that I love them and trying to calm their fears. Tears don't come to my eyes. I have to be strong. For them.

Then the Peackeepers are in the room and my family is rising, leaving me and my small, blue room for District 7, where they belong and are as safe as they can be. We hug for a final time, and the last thing I hear is Creta's final word to me: win. I don't have time to respond, but how would I? I won't be living, not in the hell I'm going to.

I stare at the door, trying to convince myself that my family is gone for good; trying to convince myself that District 7, my home, is so close and tangible, but it's impossible. I'm a million miles away now, soaring in some kind of a dream. When the door opens, it's no surprise that I jump away from it like a wild animal, curling onto the couch.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," says the familiar voice. A hand accompanies it, stroking my spine, slowly coaxing me into his arms, which I stay in numbly. I'm still worked up from the visit with my family, still confused from the Reaping, and can't seem to produce any emotion or words for him.

River doesn't study me like my family did; doesn't search for any differences in me. I am accepted into his arms without comment. Something in him is frozen, just like me, unwilling to believe that this is happening. His arms around me are a shield to the world, saving me from the terror it holds. But I force myself to break away and study his green eyes as I did my family's, desperately trying to hold onto whatever I can. "You'll survive. You'll live on." I tell him, though my voice sounds far away. The idea of him spending his life mourning me is painful. "You'll find someone else."

His eyes show shock, followed by sadness and denial. He hugs me close. "You know I won't. I couldn't. I won't just let you go."

I push him away again, gripping his hands tightly. They squeeze back in the way I found comforting only hours ago. Before the nightmare began. My eyes are becoming wet again. Never again will I see River. "Then you'll just have to try. Promise me that you'll try."

"No." His jaw firms stubbornly, making him look older, too. "I won't. There's no reason to try. You're coming home, Fawn. You can win."

I blink at him, uncomprehending. They say love blinds people to the truth. Is River really blind enough to see that I will win? "You've watched the Games," I tell him. "You've seen the people in them and what they can do. I can't kill them. I'm not going to win."

I try to pull my hands away, try to clear my head, but River holds me tight. "You're a fighter, Fawn," he tells me earnestly. "You're not like the others. You can survive and you can come home to me."

Home to him ... right now, there is nothing I want more. The hungry, hard life I lead only this morning is a million miles away and soothing as a dream. For the first time, I allow myself to imagine returning home, living in the Victor's Village, ridiculously rich and safe. Free to live with River and never worry about money again. We could really have that house full of green-eyed children, and be happy and content. For a moment, I loose myself in the thought.

But then I feel reality crash around me as my barrier collapses. One moment I was flying high in the clouds with hope, the next I am hopelessly deep in a sea of black waves. The word 'victor' is a synonym for 'killer.' To return to River and District 7, I will have to see the deaths of 23 other children. "I'm not a killer, though," I tell him, letting my gaze meet his, letting my hopelessness show. "How could you live with me? How could I?"

"The same way we do now," he tells me gently, moving a tuck of hair from my face. "We'll love you."

My eyes are filling with those useless tears again. "I love you." It's the first time I have voiced the words, my voice cracking under the weight of their meaning.

"I love you, too," he says, sincerely. And, to my surprise, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. Another first. But I'm still so numb, so shocked, that I cannot react until he has pulled away. Looking into those beautiful green eyes, I try to draw him close again, but he only chuckles, tapping my nose in affection.

"No more, sweet," River tells me, ignoring my protests. "I have to give you something to look forward to upon your arrival back. Something to fight for." Then, as though they have been listening for the right time, the Peacekeepers enter and escort River out. I hug him as they drag him away. "I love you!" he calls back to me.

But he's gone before I can say more than "I -"

~~BTCS~~

My next visitors find me already standing with my arms open. Of course, I knew they would be next. Aside from my family and River, they are the most important people in the world to me. Lyda slips into my arms without further discussion, her carefully plaited red hair all askew. I can tell that she's trying hard not to cry in front of me. No, crying will be saved for her bed tonight when no one is looking and she can remember her father and me.

I rub her back consolingly and look up to the rest of the Crescent Moon Troop. We fill the small Visiting Room almost completely. Lore's face is the first I seek out. Seeing that handsome, kind face so dark is painful. Looking around, I see that everyone's faces are the same way. Serious and waiting. Ready to hear me speak. But I cannot think of a single thing to say to them. They know me so well ... what can I say that they do not already know? I only motion for them to join me as I sit down, placing Lyda in my lap. They cry around me, Lyda on my lap, Johanna curled up beside me with Poy beside her. On my other side is Kri and Trew. Riccy and Lore pull up the loveseat and sit across from us, so that our legs touch.

We sit like this for a long time, all of their eyes on me and mine traveling between them. Suddenly, I'm thinking of all the good times we've had in the forest. Lyda's ridiculous pranks that we all fell for, and Poy's good-heartedness to everything but dinner and coyotes. On one occasion, Trew had been startled by a snowy rabbit jumping right at him. Kri had fallen a short distance from a tree in a failed attempt to catch the small ball in a late night game of Branchball. Riccy had mimed Trew doing some long-forgotten task and walked right into a patch of nettles. Lore helping me pile lumber and refusing the pay. And Johanna watching, learning in her silent way.

Never again will we travel the forest together. The Hunger Games will be gone, and they will return to the area we only so recently scouted, and begin to cut down the forest once more. They will live on and scout again, and I will become the thing of memories and dreams; a wisp of memory in a thick cloud of fog.

Our short last time together is running out, and I find words for them. Words they already know, but words I feel I must say. "Keep them alive. Aria, Creta, my mother ... River. Make them live on. And live yourselves. Don't forget me, but live your own lives." I can't add the last words, for fear of the trouble it may bring us. Some words are not meant to be said, but are understood all the same. And I see the answer blazing in their eyes. Yes, my dear fighting troop, my friends, the only ones capable, will avenge me. And maybe this will give me the courage I need to face my death.

The Troop leaves without complaint, though they do stop to hug me as they go. I suppose it is for the best. The less attention they attract, the better, though some part of me wishes they'd attempt to break me out. Maybe I'd even get farther than a block - maybe I'd make it home to the hills...

I'm not really sure who is coming to see me next, coming into this room briefly from District 7. After my family, River, and the troop, there is no one who really loves me. But I stand corrected when Web meanders into the room, hand on his gnarled cane, eyes on the floor. He appears to be anxious, muttering to the floor as he often does the stars. At the sight of his hunched frame, I feel a jolt of guilt. I haven't instructed anyone to care for him. Where will he be, without my meat to feed him?

Web shuffles to where I sit, never raising his head. He seems intent upon searching the floor for some long-forgotten object. When he is no more than a foot from me, he glances up suddenly to study my face, searching for an answer. This isn't quite unusual - it is one of Web's old, slightly odd habits. "Danger," he warns me. "We are all in grave danger - you most especially, my dear. Such grave, grave, danger..." he trails off, glancing just over my left ear.

I frown, turning to see what he may be looking at, but seeing only a pale blue wall. Web is oftentimes distant, but not typically like this. I gently help him sit beside me. He stares at the door. "I knows I'm in danger, Web," I reassure him. "I'll be watching out for danger."

"No," Web's voice is surprisingly forceful for his being so distant. I feel close to him, to the world, now that someone else is drifting. "You don't know the danger. There is more to fear than you realize. Much more danger than you ever know..."

My eyes narrow as they rest on Web's old, aged form. What does he mean? How could I not realize the danger I am in? I am a tribute to the Hunger Games, after all! "Web ... I don't understand."

"Of course you do not," he replies, studying my face again. I feel oddly naked when he does this, more so now than normal. It must be because of my frayed nerves, I tell myself. "You are still young and innocent. You could never understand that you are dead and so am I and everyone you know."

"What?" I say. "Dead?" Stricken, I shake my head. Web is right. I do not understand. My heart is pounding wildly, as though Web is saying something important. All I want is to ignore him and curl back up on the couch.

Web's eyes are angry when his gravelly voice speaks again, "The Capitol chooses 24 children each year." I know this, and nod in agreement, grateful for simple, easy facts. "23 never return. Their families grieve. But what happens to them afterwards? No one hears of them after the Victory Tour unless another family member is Reaped. Why? Because they suffer far more, far worse, than grief.

The words don't rest easily with me. Will my family be punished for my involvement in the Games even after I have paid with my life? After I am dead and can no longer protect them? "What will happen to them, Web?" I'm begging, tears and sobs banished by a sort of urge to know. "What will become of them?"

He shrugs his wrinkled shoulders. "Who can say what, truly? It will all be put down to accidents - falling trees, bad squirrel, poisoned berry ... I've watched these Games from the beginning, Fawn. And not one family remains unscathed."

"W-what if I win?" I could fight and kill and win, if only I know that with my life, theirs would be spared. "Will they be safe then?" There is a desperate tone to my voice.

Web shakes his head darkly. "You may be able to protect some of them if you live, but if you place one foot out of line, they will all die slowly, one by one. Why do you think Blight is all alone? Why Haymitch Abernathy drinks his life away? Why our other Victors are dead; taken their own lives?"

Our victors took their own lives? I'd thought that they were accidents. "But I could save them? I could try, if I win?" I am grasping for something to hold onto before I die.

His face is bleeding pity for me. "We can all try. But protect who you can now, Fawn. Mention no one they could track down without your help. Your mother, sisters, and troop are already doomed. Me, as well. But protect young River and all the others with your whole heart."

"I will. I swear it," I touch my heart, because it is surely bleeding all over the blue delicateness of this room, shoving reality into its face. "Web ... thank you. Thank you for warning me."

He pats my hand. "Keep singing." And he walks to the door, pounding on it until Peacekeepers take him away. I cannot bear to watch him go, even in his own fashion. Instead, I stare at my hands, clenched into fists. How quickly the Games have changed me! Already, my hands are fists, ready to fight. Slowly, I unfurl them, staring at the familiar calluses. A tribute. A corpse. A memory. A killer. That's what I am now.

The door opens, and I jump, startled despite myself. Byron, Tyrone, and Lily Arbre step in timidly, not sure of themselves. I'm surprised that they came. After all, we have only known each other a matter of days. But maybe they felt obligated to come, because of River. Gazing at them, I wish they hadn't come. I'm determined to protect them and River.

I smile shakily at them. Well, they're here. I might as well be hospitable. "Please. Sit." I may be a killer now, but I promise myself that I'll try not to bite. They sit beside me, to my right, with Lily closest.

She speaks first, hands still resting on her swollen stomach. In there, I think, is life. Life untainted, un-ruined by Panem. Innocent life. For now. "We are so sorry, Fawn."

I do not know how to respond. 'It's okay' would have been a lie. I settle one, "I know," but because that sounds too depressing, I add, "but it's not your fault."

"River is devastated," Byron tells me. This is the wrong thing to say, because my head becomes filled with pictures of River, memories of our short Festival Time. My eyes fill with tears again.

I whisper, "I know."

There seems to be nothing left to say. They sit with me as I remember River. Remember. That thought is the most painful of all. When the time is up, they stand and wish me luck. I wonder if this means that they wish me an easy death as they walk away forever.

Mist Troop enters right after the Arbres's departure. Unlike my past visitors, they seem to show no awkwardness, sorrow, or nostalgia. They appear ... determined. Upon entering, Moxie walks up and sticks her finger right in my face. "Listen," she tells me, as though I may try and ignore her last words to me. "You are not allowed to enter River's life and leave like this. You have no right."

I blink and push her finger away. "I wish I could change things, Moxie. I really do. But what can I do? I've already been Reaped."

"Win." Lake tells me. At least, I think it is Lake. It might be his brother, Robin. "You can win."

I shake my head in exasperation. Is no one here in their right minds? I cannot win. "I ... I'm no real contender in these Games," I tell them. "Not compared to the Careers."

"Who knows?" small, wiry Guy replies. "Maybe this year will be different."

"Look at the victors not from Career districts," Elfie insists, spreading her arms apart to me as though to make it seem clearer. "Blight, Haymitch, Betee, Wiress, Chaff. They did it, didn't they? The arena isn't going to be filled with Enobarias and Finnick Odairs."

I blink. "But how do you know?" Here, I have a point. They don't. They can't. Not for sure, anyway.

Robin (I think) ignores my question and continues. "And the strong don't always win. Remember last year?" He's right. Last year, in the 69th Hunger Games, a girl name Annie Cresta from District 4 lost her mind after her district partner was beheaded. But she still won because she could survive in the following flood the longest.

I am frustrated with them. "But I can't win! I just can't! You know that!"

They are silent a moment, letting me puff in rage and indigence in the otherwise silence. Piper finally says, "You can try. Promise you will at least try."

I blink. Try. This is an idea that had not fully occurred to me. I could try. My thoughts had been full of killing and succeeding or dying in dignity. But I could try. I could die at least knowing that I had tried. Feeling strangely compelled to the idea, I respond, my voice wavering, "I ... I promise. I'll try."

Suddenly, quickly, they begin to advise me on what to do. "Find water first," Robin tells me. "You can't live without it." How often we have watched tributes die of thirst! He is right. I must find water.

"Trees," Piper advises. "Go to the trees. Especially pine. You know them. And they offer concealment." When I protest that there aren't always trees, she snaps back that I'd better hope for them.

"Flee the Cornucopa," Guy insists over my protests. "There's nothing there for you but death."

"And knives," Moxie reminds him, frowning at the two of us. "And she'll need weapons to get food. Don't both with the supplies. Get knives and get out, Fawn."

Elfie looks at me carefully before insisting that I will need allies. Sensing my protests, she tells me, "They may know different things than you. And they may save your life. Isn't that the point of having a Troop, not a lone person? And you may be glad for their company."

"But be sure to choose someone who won't betray you," Lake cautions. Too many tributes are killed each year by backstabbing allies, as well all know too well.

Robin rumbles, "Get sponsors. Make the Capitol love you enough to keep you alive. Do whatever it takes to win and keep their favor. It's all that can help you. Them, their favor, and their money."

"And most importantly, learn all you can," Guy adds. "The training time is the most important time for you outside of the arena. Remember that."

Peacekeepers enter. The troop from Sap repeats their advice to me, and I am thanking them. Without this visit, I may not have remembered to hope. And their advice gives me something to think about. I make them promise to take care of River, and keep repeating, "I'll try. I will. I really will." until the door closes.

~~~BTCS~~~

I stare at the door, trying to prepare myself for whatever is next, though I cannot imagine who else cares enough about me to visit. When the door opens and Lore's sweetheart, Jessica Moonbeam, steps in, Peacekeepers tell me that we have 10 minutes and she is my last visitor.

When the door has closed again, I glance at Jessica, looking for a normal mood to display on my face. "Hey, Jessica."

Obviously not fooled by my nonchalance, she stares at me. "Hey, Fawn." her expression and tone are far from normal, and I feel my act melt away. A moment of silence passes before she observes, "You've changed."

My heart sinks. If she can see the murderer in me so quickly, then I am doing a worse job of hiding it than I thought. Why joke with her? I think, and I speak my mind. "I know. I'm a killer."

She looks startled. "No, you're not. Well, not yet anyway. I just meant that you're too sad and grim. You weren't like this only this morning." I try to imagine being that happy and content again, and fail.

"The Games change people," I tell her, grimly smiling. "Not a lot of happiness in them. Not the last time I checked." I sit down with a thump on the blue, hating its pristine, petite color and stature.

"No," she agrees. "I wanted to give you something." She comes to sit beside me and grabs my hand reassuringly. It's a weird gesture, considering we barely know each other, but my being Reaped seems to have made me closer to everybody. Jessica lets go of my hand and I open it to find a small carved necklace on a length of string. I bring it closer to my eyes and examine it. It is in the small, delicate shape of a star, with a moon attached to it.

I sigh as I look at it. "Oh, Jessica. It's beautiful." I move to hand it back to her, but she shakes her head, closing my fingers around it.

"Keep it as your token," she tells me, her eyes filled with kind tears. No wonder Lore loves her. She is beautiful, smart, fairly well off, and has a good heart. What more could he ask for?

Lore. How I already miss him. "I - ... thank you." I allow the girl to place it around my neck. "Take care. Of yourself and Lore. He's a good guy."

She smiles and nods. "You too. I wish you sharp eyes and ears. And the best of luck in the world."

I smile wryly. "Thanks. I'll need it where I'm going." and then she's gone, like a whisper of the moonbeam her ancestors were named for.

~~~~BTCS~~~~

Peacekeepers come in to escort me out. Right. Now I go to the train station where the reporters will analyze us and call out questions that we will probably not answer. I exit my blue room through the only door, where the visitors entered, and into District 7. I stare around at the drab tiles of the paved road and the tall, grey factories. The afternoon has begun to cool slightly, and a slushy, freezing rain has begun, coating the grayness with its chill. It's not exactly home, but it is District 7 and I soak in every bit of it that I can.

Raven is waiting, surrounding by Peacekeepers as I am. He, too, is gazing around at the buildings that are home. We won't be seeing this again, after all, and might as well soak up as much of District 7 as we can. He glances at me and quickly away again. In that brief time, I can see his face is thick with emotion. I know that mine must be too, so I quickly wipe my face of all feeling, as I am accustomed to do before Peacekeepeers.

The Peacekeepers begin to lead Raven and me through the gray streets, thronged with reporters. The cameras are trained on us again. I do my best to pretend that they aren't there, my eyes fixed in the direction we are walking, toward the train station. A quick glance at Raven tells me that he is attempting to do the same, though poorly. I can only hope that I am doing a better job than him.

"Fawn!" "Fawn Dowood!" "Miss Dogwood!" the reporters call to me in an endless stream of voices. "How does it feel to be Reaped?" "What are your strategies in the Hunger Games?" "Tell us about your goodbyes!" "How are you dealing with the surprise?" I know that tributes who accept these interviews often have more sponsors because they were the first to have the opportunity to know, but I'm still to wrecked in my emotions to stop and answer any of their never-ending questions.

When we reach the train station, I am guessing that maybe twenty minutes of the hour we have to be filmed has passed. Blight and Garnish are speaking to reporters in front of the sleek Capitol train. The Peacekeepers line up around the crowd, in case Raven or I try to escape, and essentially leaving us to our own devices.

"I'll try. I'll really, really try." I had promised that I would try to save my hide, didn't I? I can at least answer some harmless question instead of standing here for the next quarter hour. With a sigh, I abandon Raven and walk towards Blight, making a sorry effort to smile.

Blight seems surprised by my appearance, but covers whatever leaked onto his face, smiling and grasping my shoulders. "And this, Giovanni, is Fawn Dogwood. One of my tributes this year, as I'm sure you know." I glance up at the Capitol reporter. His hair is bright turquoise and his clothes a bright purple. Giovanni, as Blight referred to him, appears to be young enough, 20 or less, and smiles eagerly at me now.

"Of course. Fawn Dogwood, how does it feel to be Reaped for the 70th Hunger Games?" he asks in his weird Capitol smile. I catch a glimpse of turquoise teeth.

I take a slow breath as I try to decide how to answer. Any Career would reply about the honor and glory, but how would I? I clear my throat. "Actually pretty shocking," I offer him and the cameras a humble smile. Realizing that this will not be enough, I add, "At the same time, though, I'm pretty excited. I mean, it's a chance to see the Capitol! The crown jewel of Panem! It's a one in a lifetime chance. I guess that I'm just lucky enough to get it." I give them my best sheepish smile and a few heavily mackup-ed Capitol faces smile encouragingly at me.

Giovanni is obviously pleased with me. His outfit is slightly less striking than the others, and I'm guessing that he is a starting reporter. This interview with me is probably a big deal to him and his career. "So, do you and Blight know each other, Fawn Dogwood?"

Blight chooses to answer, throwing his arm over my shoulder. I can smell the wine on his breath and try to look comfortable as he lies, "Oh, I have known Fawn since she was a little baby. Our families are old friends."

"Yes, Blight and my father were very close," I add, smiling with what I hope is winning fashion. "Blight used to visit our moving colony, Sawdust, every time we came near the Victor's Village."

Blight's arm slouches slightly on my shoulders. I wonder how drunk he is - drunk enough to believe this all happened? I doubt it, for his moves are clear enough. "Oh, yes. Those were the good days. The Dogwoods sure knew how to throw a good party!"

I let my face appear crestfallen, which isn't hard, considering the circumstances. "Yes. Those were the good days." Blight has the sense to follow my lead and his face darkens, like the sudden appearance of a cloud on a sunny day. "My father," I inform Giovanni, as though just remembering his was there. "died in a forest fire seven years ago."

"Ah, yes," Blight replies in a cry of something like renewed despair. "Tragic! How tragic it was! I remember you, Fawn, were particularly upset. You and your father were so close."

I wait a moment, wallowing in true sorrow. Remembering my father on this day is difficult. He is dead, and I will be soon. Remembering to perform, I glance at Blight. "I haven't seen you since, though, Blight."

Blight lets his frown deepen. "Of course, your father's loss made it difficult. I found myself going to your home upon several occasions, but was unable to continue at the thought that your father would not be there." I pat his shoulder consolingly for a moment, while Blight appears apologetic and sad.

When Giovanni has seen enough, he interrupts our moment. "What are your plans in the Games, Fawn?"

I glance at Blight. I really should discuss this with him before anyone else, as he may have many different angles for me to play. I think again of the Careers and how they would answer, and find my response. "To win." I lie to him through a smile. Giovanni laughs.

It is obvious he has another question for me, but Blight is leading me away for "pictures of the team." This proves to consist of Blight standing with Garnish, Raven standing with Garnish, me standing with Garnish, and then the whole lot standing with Garnish. Then this is repeated with Blight, then Raven, and me. And then, of course, endless pictures of Raven and I alone.

Then there are pictures of us slowly mounting the steps of the station and standing in front of the sleek Capitol train. Then Blight and Garnish enter the train and Raven and I stand at the entrance of the train for several long minutes before we are allowed to step back. The doors immediately slide close, and the engine begins a soft hum under our feet. And then, and then ... District 7 is speeding fast, away. I stare as Redwood disappears, followed by the forest and then ... District 7 is gone. Forever.