I think this story is starting to turn out pretty great, but then again, I guess I'm pretty biased.

The end of day two greets the tributes with a flurry of snow, wind, and freezing temperatures. Every tribute feels the chill, even the well supplied ones. Some tributes hide in small mountain caves, some in survival tents while others still clutch hold of blankets and turn their back to the wind, teeth chattering. The anthem plays and the face of the girl from District 6 shines in the sky. The night drags on and on…

Draise Kingen (District 8)

My large steps make crunching noises as I continue on my snowy trek, alone except for my foggy breath. The godforsaken weather has just started to let up and I want to make the most of it. I travel down the snowy mountain into the slowly rising tree trunks, using the nearly full moon to light my way. It's too open and cold to survive at such high altitudes. While the seclusion of the mountain lured me initially, I know the forest is the safer option. I had traveled directly up all the first day like an idiot, but now I make my way down into the welcoming arms of wood at a diagonal, sure to keep heading away from the cornucopia. The lethal pack is certain to be stationed somewhere around the starting point, morons usually are. I mentally roll my eyes.

I cross from the sparse mountain trees into the night shadows of the forest and the mounds of concrete-snow are transformed to a measly carpet. Now safely under cover of the canopy of trees, nearly all moon light is extinguished, but after a few minutes my eyes adjust to the dim light. I'm absolutely exhausted and quite literally starving. I carry with me an axe made of solid silver from the very mouth of the cornucopia, a thick sweater with the hood pulled tight around my wavy brown hair and a canteen clipped to my belt. I risked my life to get the axe, so I couldn't afford to stick around for the choice supplies too. I need to find something to eat soon or it's likely I'll keel over, and since no sponsors are forthcoming, I'm going to have to find it myself. Not like I expected any Capitol imbeciles to take a liking to me. I mean, I smashed the head of that 12 year old boy from 9 to get my weapon, but it won't be in the Hunger Game's record book.

I travel for a while before finding a bush of small berries tucked away under a pair of firs and delicately examine them. I deem them good to eat and I can't stop myself from swallowing a handful without chewing. Not a five star meal but I am not really in a position to complain.

A half hour later, the pocket of my gray jacket filled with the rather bland fruit and my stomach is nearly satisfied. "Shut up…" I mumble as it gurgles for more. I've been this hungry before a handful of times. Usually when my drunk of an uncle borrows money from my parents or after a conveyor belt malfunctions and we can't afford the moldy bread so many live off of back home in District 8. My home is apartment number two-one-one in Living Building five, across the stinking river from a dying factory. Every single day I have a five hour shift there. It's a lot of boring and meaningless work for little pay, but if I didn't work my fingers to the bone on the conveyor belts, I wouldn't ever eat. Even our scraggily black and white cat, nicknamed Tux, works hard at de-mousing our building.

I didn't like my District before I was reaped, but it seems like heaven compared to this hellish hole. Even The Capitol, a shining city of colored glass and circus acts is repulsive. I miss the good and boring and horrendous textile district. Someone there probably made the clothes I'm wearing, hell, I could have-

Snap!

A noise from behind me brings me back to reality and I turn, axe swinging over my shoulder like a professional athlete. Too late to do anything, I am helpless as a strong hand hits me in the face before I can do anything. I see stars and stumble. The hands owner makes a desperate swipe for my axe, but I have enough sense to send my left elbow flying into their face. She stumbles back, hand on her nose and I readjust the grip on my weapon's handle. She's fast though, this girl, and between the dim light and her speed, my otherwise fatal horizontal chop cuts nothing but air. She punches me square in the jaw and I know where she is. I take a hold of her exposed red-hair and bring her already broken nose down hard on my knee. She yelps and drops to the ground. I stand above her raising my axe, but in a flash she kicks my groin and we're both on the ground.

My axe flies away, disturbing the snow while my body processes the agony. My eyes open and the girl from District 9, dark blood dripping out of her nostrils, is crawling towards the silver weapon ten feet away. I roll and manage to grab one of her legs.

She lets loose an indignant cry and kicks me in the face with her other foot. I howl and swear and my grip slackens. She shakes me off and wildly dives for my axe. I'm on her right as she reaches it. We scrabble and claw and she even makes to head butt me, but we're at a stale mate. We roll on the snowy ground, neither of us able to best the other or manage a firm grip on the chopping tool. I am taller, but she is visibly better fed and has muscle on her bones. Then a blur of white shoots past us. She screams and I look at who threw the snowball.

Only it's not a snowball.

It's a small, white dog that comes up to about the bottom of my knee. It's very feline in its thin torso and spindly legged stance, but the pointed nuzzle exhaling foggy breath marks it as some type of wolf or fox or dog at the very least. It's fur is mostly a silvery white but runs of gray accent its pristine fur and curved claws and teeth adorn it's paws and mouth respectively. It smiles sinisterly at us and lets out a growl much too low for its body. Then more arrive.

At least ten of these mutts creep from the trees and bushes and even out the end of a fallen log. All skulk to catch up to their mutt brother, threatening growls and numbers growing in intensity. District 9 and I scramble to our feet eyeing the beasts. We back away together, both prioritizing the Gamemakers as a bigger threat to our safety. Her nose still drips blood and I'm panting from our tussle. I don't know if we could fight these things, leaving us only one other option: run.

I turn and bolt a second before she does, but she's right next to me as a swoop up my fallen axe. Growls and small roars rip from the mutt's throats behind us, too close for comfort. 9 grabs my shoulder and urges me to speed up. We run for a minute and burst into a small clearing when she yells.

"Look out!" She shrieks. I feel claws dig into my back and slip on an icy patch of ground. When my back meets the ground, I feel the dog's body break beneath my slight frame. I hear the girl scream in pain and fear as a fox bites her calf. She falls and, before I know it, I'm kicking its face as hard as I can over and over again. It's skull broken, it finally releases her. I pull District 9 up and drag her away as the rest of the pack rips into the clearing, ready for war.

I guess we're in this together now.

Dun duuuuuun! Review and let me know what you're thinking. 'Til next week!