Author's Note: And again, we have an early-ish update. You're welcome. I guess I'm still in a good mood since the Rangers are still in first place. This chapter was very hard to write, and I could never quite agree with myself on how it should go or what should happen. I'd really appreciate knowing what you guys thought of it. Do you think I did a decent job here?

. . .

I have no trouble obeying Thresh, especially since he's not attempting to stay and fight. We both know that Cato has at least one weapon whereas all we have access to are rocks, and so running through a field that we know well seems most logical. Thresh comes up beside me and takes my hand, guiding me through the grasses without a word or even a gesture. We would be so much better off if the loud splashing of our feet didn't give away our location. But we press on, twisting and changing our path and keeping our pace at a solid run.

The storm is more violent now, with lightning flashing and thunder rolling. There is some wind too, always blowing the rain into my eyes and tempting me to close them. But I have to keep stay alert; I have to be ready for anything.

I don't know if it's his years of training or a steady supply of good food from sponsors, but Cato is gaining on us. I only chance a couple of looks in his direction, but the grass cannot swallow him up, and every minute he seems closer. On and on we run, and I begin to wonder how far the field goes. Surely we have gone more than a mile from the original tree line, and still the sea of grass surrounds us on all sides.

After more than twenty minutes of running, the grass begins to thin out up ahead. I have never been to this part of the field before, and I can only guess that Thresh is taking us into the woods to some defensible place. We can't run forever, and if my legs are burning as they carry my fairly thin frame, I cannot image how much this run must be taxing Thresh's body.

I will never know how Thresh and I would have held up had we been able to successfully escape the field together. Just when I see a stretch of rough ground leading to nothingness that indicates a steep drop off—probably a cliff—up ahead, Thresh grunts beside me and stumbles. We both stop, me sliding to a halt, and him sprawling onto his hands and knees. Cato is only a few yards back, and his hand is empty. My mind wonders why for only a second before I see the dagger in Thresh's back.

"Thresh!" I cry, but he shoves me away.

"Go. Now." His voice is strained and full of pain, but the words are clear. I shake my head, but something in his eyes is so compelling that I do what he says, tears stinging my eyes.

Cato is still running towards us, and now he has unsheathed a sword. I cannot turn to look at Thresh until I am at least fifteen yards off, and then I chance a glance behind. Cato has stopped pursuing me, so I halt in my tracks and take in the situation, wishing there was something I could do.

Cato wears a sadistic grin as he moves toward my ally, who is slowly turning around to face his foe, and I feel my face twist into a horrified grimace. I hurried look around for a projectile, and finally my shaking hands grasp a coin-sized rock. When I turn back, I see Cato plunge the sword into Thresh's chest. The boy from 11 hasn't given up, though. His bare hands grab the blade and yank it away, but Cato is strong, too. He slams Thresh' face with his knee, sending the injured boy onto the ground, flat on his back. Cato retrieves his sword and stands over his fallen prey, ready no doubt to make a death the audience won't forget.

It all happened so fast, before I could make sense of it. But now I have gathered my wits, and I scream in anguish as I send the rock speeding for Cato's head. It smacks his skull with force, not quite enough to knock him unconscious, but enough to mean he'll have a bad headache for a week. And definitely enough to get his attention.

At that moment, when Cato's angry eyes meet mine, something suddenly happens that would amaze me if I had the time to be amazed. Rather than not knowing what to do, as I usually find myself, I come up with an idea out of thin air and put it into action immediately.

I hold up Cato's bag and wave it tauntingly, displaying more confidence in this second than I have in any other year of my life. "Cato," I say in a mocking voice. "isn't this that bag that you need desperately? I must say, your taste is questionable, but all the same, don't you think you had better fetch it before I sling it down to my other ally?"

Cato is livid, and while I am not sure he believed what I said about another ally, he looks at the bag—and me—with fire in his eyes. He looks down at Thresh, but then makes his decision. With an eerie growl, he sprints in my direction.

I take a few steps toward the precipice and heave the bag over it. The descent looks to be difficult, but certainly not impossible. And if I know much about Cato, it's that he is very proud and he'd feel so much less vulnerable if he had that armor. And truly he would be, so maybe what I'm doing is stupid, but I don't care. Thresh is all that's on my mind right now.

The pack tumbles down a long way before sliding to a halt far below. "Hurry; he's coming for it!" I shout down the cliff for good measure before sprinting away to the right where there are a few trees.

To my joy, Cato goes right after it. Maybe it's been bothering him that he lost the bag and his haughtiness really is in control right now, but I suppose it's also possible that he was wounded or something and doesn't want to fight without the armor. No matter what the cause, Cato has followed the bag down the steep slope, and I know that I have at least a few minutes before he comes back.

"Thresh!" I call, sprinting with all the energy left in me to where my ally lies. "Thresh!"

I find him in only a few seconds, still on his back, blood tricking freely from his wounds. I collapse, sobbing, right next to him. I haven't heard a cannon, but I know that he will die for sure. I am not even certain if he is conscious.

"Thresh," I plead, grabbing one of his massive, bleeding hands in mine and pulling it close. "Thresh, can you hear me?"

His eyes flutter open, and he heaves in a labored breath. "Amaranth," he says, as if he had at first had trouble placing me. "Cato?"

"He's taking a detour over the cliff," I answer, producing a smile on both our faces, though mine feels forced.

What do I say? How can I possibly encourage him right now? He's not going be alright, things are not going to be okay, and he's not going to be the victor. And in addition to my own blank mind, I am crying, so any words might not be coherent anyway. Thresh looks more composed that I am.

"I don't want to be forgotten," he finally whispers, his eyes full of fear. "I don't want to be their cast off toy."

I have never seen his gaze like that before, so lacking in courage and steadfastness. Now he truly is a child, a dying child who needs someone to tell him that he is loved. I obviously don't love him like Peeta has professed to love Katniss, but there is another kind of love, a brotherly kind that can occur between any two people, and that's what I have to offer.

"You will never be forgotten," I say as firmly as I can manage. "Not by me, not by the other tributes, not by the audience. And you are not theirs; they cannot own your soul. You never played the Games by any rules other than your own, and you died free. That's better than living as a slave, right?"

"You think so?" he wheezes.

"I know so, Thresh." I swallow, more tears spilling onto my cheeks. Then I press the same simple illegal sign into Thresh's hand that I showed to Seeder before the Games. "Do you know this?"

"I have…heard it…" he trails off. His strength is failing, and what I have to say I must say now.

"Thresh, what they say is true. About freedom, about joy, and about life. Believe it, and death won't seem so bad. I promise."

I wish that I could speak in plainer terms, but to alert the Capitol to the illegal group's existence would mean death to many people. So for now I stick with this method, and since Thresh smiles a little, I think it's worked well enough. He grips my hands in a vice-like hold and searches my eyes for strength as his own departs, but I think he can see it there. I do have a solid rock on which to stand, though I have never known its true might until now.

Thresh's eyes lose focus and his hand's grasp releases. The cannon fires, and although I want so badly to stay and tend to Thresh, I know that I have already been fortunate to have this long. Cato could be here any second, and I must make use of the lead I have. I lean down and kiss his forehead, whispering, "Farewell," as I rise. Then, without a backward glance, I sprint into the forest.

. . .

Please review! This was so hard to do…I loved Thresh more and more as I wrote him! I hope I did him justice.