"We should camp here."

"No, we shouldn't."

"Here is fine."

"No, it's not. It's completely exposed," Wren said with a sigh, gesturing hopelessly to the bare clump of bushes. "We may as well sleep in the middle of an open field. If anything comes by it'll see us immediately, be it muttation or tribute."

"I'm tired," Cedar shot back.

"Then you can sleep here. Acton and I will find somewhere better."

"What makes you think you know better than I do?"

"Because I do," Wren spat. "I survived all these days in this weather just fine. I didn't have to hole up in the Cornucopia like someone I can name. I think I'm a little more experienced in the matter."

Cedar lifted a hand as though to grab his mace, but then stopped. Acton watched apprehensively. His teammates had been fighting almost non-stop since he had arrived. The twelve-year-old had told them that October had been delirious with hypothermia and had stumbled over the edge of the cliff and into the lake before he could save her. There was no blood or significant signs of a struggle, so Acton believed him. Wren, however, refused to buy the story, pinning Cedar as a traitor and a liar.

It had only gone downhill from there.

They bickered over everything from how to ration Wren's food to who got to lead the way to who had done better in the Arena despite the fact that they were both in the top seven. They had eventually settled on going northwest, towards Wren's old camp. They didn't want to get too far away or else the Gamemakers would use unwanted means to flush them back towards the other group, but they figured a bit of distance wouldn't hurt.

Acton was beginning to get a headache from listening to the pair of them, but he was afraid of saying anything. He was afraid of them turning on him. He was much taller and more muscular than the both of them, but he wasn't sure if he had the brains to beat them in a fight. Despite what Anja had told him, he knew that he wasn't brilliant. He had brute strength, sure, but would that be enough to make him a Victor?

"Here is good," Wren announced after they had walked for a while longer. They stood in front of a willow tree. Many of the small leaves had wilted, leaving strings of crinkly brown ornaments that turned to dust when touched.

"How is this better?" Cedar asked crossly. "The leaves don't provide any cover."

"There's a patch of evergreen shrubs behind the trunk," Willow explained. "Those will provide plenty of cover on their own. In the dead of night if anyone shifts or gets up, it'll appear like the tresses have shifted. Most of the ones back there are still intact, at any rate, so as long as no one touches them it'll just be another layer of cover."

Cedar had no retort to this. Wren lifted her chin superiorly and led the way to the evergreen bushes. They were a few feet tall, half of them inside the circle of the willow's branches and half of them outside. The outer ones were bigger, probably because they got more sun. It created a protective barrier. The shorter ones barely cleared the snow. Wren pushed past the first bush and turned, waving Acton and Cedar towards her. She stood in a small clearing. It was a meter or so across and definitely not long enough for Acton to lie down in without curling up, which wasn't such a big deal since it was too cold to lie flat. The quarters would be close.

"We need to clear it out, of course, but that won't take long," Wren added. The three quickly got to work, tossing the excess snow over the bushes and effectively covering up the branches that had survived being buried by the snow earlier on in the Games. It was only a matter of minutes before they stood in a circle of dirt rather than snow.

"I don't think we need a watch system," Wren said, sitting down. "We're well-hidden here. The others probably won't find us, and muttations would rob the Capitol of a good show." Acton shrugged and Cedar nodded.

Acton laid down, setting his sword under the branches of the bush beside him. It was well in reach, which comforted him. He curled up slightly, shivering. He missed his nights under the rose bushes with Anja. He missed snuggling up with her and pretending he wasn't in the Games anymore. He missed the feeling of security that she gave him.

It was a long time before he managed to fall asleep. It was hard to settle down with shivers tearing through his body. It was bitterly cold. The periodic hooting of an owl kept frightening him into complete consciousness. Eventually, though, exhaustion from walking through the snow all day took over and he slipped into the dark.

He dreamt of Anja. She was whole, both physically and mentally. She was no longer plagued by frostbite and hypothermia. She was bright and teasing, just as she had been when Acton had first met her on the train. For a while Acton just stared at her, taking in every detail. God, he missed her. He'd never cared for a girl before in the way that he cared for her. He used to toy with girls, playing with them until he got bored and then finding a new one. But Anja was different. He was wholly captivated by her. Of course she had to be the one he couldn't have no matter how badly he wanted her.

After a while, Anja opened her mouth to say something. Her lips were still stained a perfect red color, giving her the appearance of a doll. Acton leaned forward slightly. More than anything, he missed her voice. He'd always have pictures of her if he became a Victor, but his only memory of her voice would be the stiff, scripted lines from her interview. He missed her easy cadence and girlish laughter.

But that was not what he heard.

Shrieking blared from Anja's mouth. Her face twisted into the face of a demon, features no longer perfect but dark and cracked. Acton staggered backwards in fear, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Wake up, wake up, wakeUP, he thought frantically. He found the will to squeeze his eyes shut, but he could still hear screaming. He opened his eyes.

This was no dream.

He grabbed his sword and rolled to the side, standing up smoothly and backing away through the bushes. Cedar was standing over Wren. Her left side was bleeding heavily. With considerable effort, Wren kicked upwards, striking Cedar in the crotch with her shin. The boy screamed, dropping his mace in agony. Wren took the opportunity to wriggle out from under him and grab her bow and arrows. She quickly fired an arrow at his neck, but he moved aside just in time. Blood was dripping relentlessly from Wren's side.

With a war cry, Wren backed up through the bushes opposite Acton and fired another arrow at Cedar. This one struck him in his right hand. The head of the arrow went at least halfway through the District 12 tribute's dominant hand. Acton ducked down, afraid of getting hit by a misfired arrow. Even if the two weren't both already wounded beyond repair, he wouldn't have stepped in. They would have killed him. It was better this way.

Cedar tore the arrow out of his hand, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort not to scream again. He tried to pick his mace up with his right hand, but the muscles wouldn't work properly. He grabbed it with his left hand instead, giving it a test swing before turning on Wren. She already had another arrow ready. She fired at his neck just as he attacked her skull. His movement forwards caused the arrow to pierce his eye instead. The loudest yell yet escaped his lips and he staggered backwards, clutching at his face. The arrow had no doubt at least slightly damaged his frontal lobe.

But this injury was child's play compared to Wren's. She was curled up in the snow. By the moonlight Acton could see that the right half of her face was bloodied and torn from the blow Cedar had dealt. Her eye had been obliterated, and the light reflected eerily off of shattered pieces of bone. Acton grimaced and looked away. Her writhing was slowing down. The combined blood loss from her side and head was no doubt intense. It wouldn't be long before her cannon fired.

Looking back to Cedar, it seemed like he didn't know what to do about the arrow lodged in his skull. Animalistic noises were emanating from his mouth. He gave the weapon an experimental tug and let loose a pained moan. Blood leaked down his face. His right hand had gone completely limp. Wren's cannon fired. Cedar's wouldn't be long after.

Acton stayed crouched in the bushes. He hated watching Cedar in so much pain, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. Blood pooled onto the dirt. He grew quieter, his groans less frequent. Eventually, he stopped moving all together. He merely lay there, whimpering occasionally. After a long while, his cannon finally fired.

Sitting down in the snow, Acton took stock of his situation. October, Wren, and Cedar were all dead. He had the supplies Wren had in her backpack plus his sword. He had no use for the bow and arrows or the mace. But he took little comfort in these facts.

He was in the final five, and it was four against one.