Happy May! It's been a while since I updated, by Aqua and Camas' perspectives gave me some trouble.

Camas Speare belongs to no-man's land.

Paitlyn Weaver belongs to ForeverTexas3, Aqua belongs to CharmedMilliE- Karry Master, and Mizell Loyer belongs to Marree A.K.A Amara.

Enjoy!

~ Meghan

DAY XII

Mizell Loyer, 17, District 7

The morning rises lazily, taking its time to paint the arena in soft blues and bright golds.

Looking at it like this, I could almost believe that there was never any bloodshed. That seventeen of us aren't dead. But seven are left, so the Games aren't over.

I stay at my place in the oak tree for a while. It's peaceful here, like the rest of the arena can't touch me, an illusion but one I'm a little grateful for. A raptor circles in the distance, maybe a hawk. The distant forest on the other side of the dry riverbed sways. But the most interesting sight is at the cornucopia. The horn glints in the growing sunlight, and the girl from District 10 is there, sorting through her backpack at the mouth of the horn.

I hum to myself, almost laughing. She doesn't even seem afraid of someone coming to attack her.

That whole business a couple days ago at the feast - was it only two days ago? - was interesting. I had watched the whole time as she'd turned on the two boys from 8 and 11, and then run off on her own. I hadn't expected her of all tributes to make a stand, to fight, to be capable of trying to kill someone. She'd been so stoic in her interview. But, then again, I guess so was I.

I sigh and finally start to climb down the branches of the tree.

It's tempting to just stay here, hidden from the other tributes, pretending I'm back in District 7. But I know I have keep moving, at least try to forage or hunt for food, make it seem like I'm not just relying on my quarry from the feast. The Capitol has a short attention span. I had been interesting enough for them before by being with the Career Pack, but now I'm on my own and I need to keep proving I can take care of myself.

I hit the ground gently, my boots scattering some of the acorns along the ground.

My thoughts float to the remnants of my alliance. Only Camas and Aqua are alive still. I had thought Jade would've survived longer than them, but still. At the beginning of the Games, I had thought Aqua was going to turn on Camas eventually, use him as a human shield and then stab him in the back or something. No way they actually have feelings for each other. Even they don't seem that stupid.

The way that Camas had look at me during the feast, though... I wouldn't be surprised if I'm at the top of his hit-list at the moment. They don't have much in the way of weapons, but Camas is strong enough that he might be able to take me in hand-combat if he caught me by surprise.

The thought of one of the tributes hunting me, watching me through the brush, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I hate surprises, and I hate the idea of snuck up on by an enemy even more.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder. With my ax firmly in hand, I start to walk, listening to the birdsong as I go.

The air is temperate, as it's always been in the arena. Some of the Games I grew up watching would have extreme weather ranging from downpours to freak snowstorms. The weather being this steady, like an autumn day, means I have one less thing to worry about. I wouldn't mind the rain, though. It would be nice to have a guarantee of water, since it doesn't seem like the Gamemakers are going to fill the river back up.

Then my mind spins in an awful direction. Maybe the Gamemakers are hoping that giving us a finite supply of water will encourage us to fight, wittling down each other before our water runs out and we try to outlast each other dying of thirst.

I grit my teeth. I don't put anything past the Gamemakers, but that end would be particularly sadistic.

Instead of letting myself spin out further on the idea, I look up as I walk. I can read the forest like this. I can see the pointed leaves of the silver maple, the long elegant ones of an ash tree, the star-like sycamore leaves. The arena has a vast deciduous forest that smells like home, even if the rush of wind through leaves is too quiet to be District 7. I grew up hearing the saw mills and the shrill shriek of the blades, the crack of a tree as it fell, the sound of saws rushing through wood.

"Trees are life-giving," my Pa told me once. "They create thousands of pounds of oxygen that lets us breathe. When we cut one down, we plant a seed in its place. It might seem small now, but that seed grows into a giant."

I had stared at the chestnut seed in his hand, so small still then myself, and tried to understand how it could turn into trees so big I could climb in.

Even the mills are dangerous to work in, even if plenty of people in 7 are missing fingers or even limbs, I miss the smell of the sawdust. I miss the normalcy of going into work and watching the rough lumber brought in get turned into something completely different.

I look down at my forearms, my sleeves rolled up. On my left arm is the scar running down from elbow, grazing my wrist. When I'd gotten that one a couple years ago, my foreman at the mill had said I was lucky that no bone was exposed. Ma had held me, shuddering, like she was afraid if she let go - even with blood running down my arm - I'd get completely chewed up the bandsaw. Now, on my right arm, are the pink burns from the fire. I put the burn cream on every day, whether I feel like it or not. It doesn't hurt anymore. But it's still there.

The Capitol usually take away any scars the victors have, but I decide I want them to leave the scars there. They're reminders that I lived.

A growl makes me freeze mid-step.

I know it came from behind me. My blood feels like ice running through my veins, but my skin burns with the horror of something stalking me. Some kind of animal is behind me.

I turn as slowly as I can. I've seen enough Games to know that running would just encourage whatever it is to chase, and chances are it can outrun me.

My vision turns black at the edges with adrenaline as my eyes fall on the wolf about ten feet from me. My ears ring.

The golden-furred wolf is abnormally large - or, I guess. I've never seen one before. They're the rumored predators outside our district's fence, a threat to anyone who decides to jump it and take their chances in the wilderness. But this one is almost as tall as me, its lips pulled back in a snarl, black eyes staring at its prey - at me.

A mutt.

This wolf is a Capitol mutt, engineered in a lab, no doubt to make it that much more physically threatening and aggressive. And it's going to kill me.

All of my senses sharpen, focusing on this one thing, this one creature.

I raise my arms above myself and bellow. I swing my arms in the air, the ax cutting through the breeze, trying to seem as large as possible. It's what we're taught to do for aggressive dogs. I yell louder, taking a step forward in challenge.

The wolf growls again. It leaps towards me.

I stumble to the side, slower than it, but still manage to get out of the way. There's no way I can run or climb faster than it catch me. The only way I'm going to live is if I fight.

I swing my ax, and the wolf lunges forward.

It catches the edge of my windbreaker sleeve between its razor-sharp teeth and shreds the fabric. But it doesn't catch my arm.

I yell, swinging again.

The wolf doesn't hesitate like a dog would, doesn't back up, instead it snaps at me again. This time I'm ready.

My ax connects with its shoulder, and the mutt finally tries to take a step away. I pull my ax out before it can and swing as hard as I can. I can feel the spray of hot blood on my face, hear it make no noise like a real animal would, and I swing again. It falls to the ground this ground this time with a crash but I can barely see anything between the blood and my vision blurring.

I pant, falling to my knees next to the dead mutt. The smell of iron and something cloying, something more chemical, is in the air. The pool of blood spreading out from the animal almost touches me, but I can't bring myself to move. My body is still electric with adrenaline, with lethal panic, but it's starting to leave my system and leave me with a heaviness that makes me want to slump over into the wolf's bloodied fur.

A wild laugh falls from my lips before I can stop it.

I lived.

When did the Capitol release this thing into the arena? I can't imagine it's always been here, unless it killed someone else. But this feels like a trap. I can almost the Gamemakers watching with delight as their newest project was released into the arena.

Did they mean for it to hunt me? Or was I just unlucky? Somehow, I don't think luck had anything to do with it. It feels almost like a test. Like the Gamemakers were wondering just how far I might be willing to go. I haven't killed anyone since the cornucopia, not even Camas at the feast. Maybe the audience thought I was boring. I hope I've proved them wrong.

I wipe the blood on my face. It doesn't do much good, and I end just smearing it across my skin.

Using my ax to help, I push myself up so I'm standing. I look down at the giant mutt carcass at my feet.

"Too bad I can't make you into a pelt," I say to the wolf's open maw, and imagine I'm speaking to the Head Gamemaker himself.

I wipe my ax off on my pants just for good measure. I'll wash off my face and my windbreaker but I'll leave the bloodstain on my leg as a reminder. Still. The question still hangs in the air. Did they send the mutt after me instead of anyone else? They Gamemakers wouldn't leave this up to random chance. Was this their idea of a joke after my comment at the interviews?

"I'm the hunter - not the hunted!"

I don't need another encounter like this one. I was fortunate I was up and moving when the wolf mutt found me. It could've caught me by more surprise. I could've panicked more. I could've died.

If the Gamemakers want me to be interesting, if they want me to do something to keep the Capitol entertained, then I'll give them something to keep their attention. Something that doesn't involve me being the prey. I'll be the hunter.

I turn towards the direction the riverbed is in. Camas came from that direction to the feast, before he mocked me at the feast.

I think I'll have to pay him a visit.

Aqua Marie, 15, District 4

I wake up in Camas' arms.

Instead of the smell of salty ocean air and the lye soap we wash our clothes with, I smell earth and dried sweat.

Sitting up, I push my palms against my eyes until stars spring up in my vision. My dreams of home melt into the arena, woven together, netting my thoughts until I'm dizzy. Or maybe it's just the drowsiness. Judging by the sun, it's still morning, maybe 10 o'clock. The arena is never cold, but the air is still cool in that way morning always is.

I turn and look down at Camas. He's still asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. His black shirt is still ripped at the torso, skin underneath burned a waxy pink.

My own burns don't hurt as much anymore. I look at my forearms where my shirt has burned away at the edges. The burns are a softer pink than Camas' and fading with every day. If I had saltwater, I could soak my arms in it. Mom has always said that saltwater can cure just about any scrape our bodies get. I flip my arms over, looking at the patterns the burns marked along my skin.

Zoe's face flashes through my mind. Maybe it's still because I'm pulling myself out of sleep, but I can't seem to make the thought go away.

I can still see her short hair plastered to her face with dirt, the hardened look in her eyes as she stared at me over the fire I told her to start. I can remember the sound of her screaming when Jade stabbed Jacob as they tried to run away. I can even remember what it felt like to cut off one of Zoe's fingers.

You murdered him.

I pull my knees up and tuck my head between them, taking a deep, steading breath.

Then there's the girl from District 5. I can't even remember her name. The one who was hiding in the back of the cornucopia horn during the bloodbath. The one who Shaiden eventually found and killed. I should've helped her escape, I should've done something. But instead I just watched as they killed her.

It's all you people know what to do.

And then Isaac. I didn't feel angry when I speared him. I was afraid. I was desperate. More than anything, I felt like I wasn't in control. He was going to turn Camas against me, kill me himself probably, and it was either me or him.

Couldn't even kill a fish, Marie.

I don't realize I'm rocking where I sit until a hand touches my back. I gasp, leaping up, stumbling away. It takes a me second to realize it's only Camas.

His eyes are wide. "Aqua? What's wrong?"

My heart slams in my chest. For a moment, I had imagined Isaac behind me, reaching out to grab at my jacket. "I... sorry..." My voice is still hoarse with sleep. "I was still half-awake."

Camas narrows his eyes, and I expect him to push things. But he doesn't. He just sighs, and gets up, stretching lazily. As if we have all the time in the world. But I guess we kind of do - all the time in the world until the Capitol decides more action needs to happen.

"How long have you been up?" he asks.

I shrug and try to be casual. "Not long. Just a minutes I think." But when I look up at the sun, it's moved. It's been longer than a few minutes. How didn't I realize that?

Camas sighs again, and then gives me a drowsy smile. "Well. I think it's time for breakfast."

We sit together on the riverbank, looking out at all the dry stones. I don't have an appetite, but he'll think it's odd if I don't eat, so I force myself to have some of the dried fruit and salted meat from a can. We didn't get out of the feast with as much as Camas wanted, but I was fine with that. Going to the feast had never been my idea. Sure, I wasn't enjoying pulling up tubers from the riverbed, but it beat having to see the other tributes.

And seeing Zircon dead.

I roll the thought over in my head like a wave. I wasn't upset about Zircon's death. But I wasn't happy either. Should I be? He'd always seemed like one of the more bearable members of our alliance. Camas hated him - now. And then Jade, who died that day too, but who knows how that happened. I had expected her to be one of the last tributes. I somehow thought she'd be the one standing up Camas in the end, fighting until one of them was left standing.

Most things haven't gone how I've expected them to.

I take a drink of water, and find that I'm thirsty. My throat feels raw.

"We could go hunting today," Camas says.

I don't need to ask to know he doesn't mean animals. "Right now?" I say, looking down at the water bottle. The sun shines off of it, warping the world through the water.

"Sometime today," he answers.

"But we don't even have proper weapons." I nod at the pointed sticks we've been using as makeshift spears. "I don't know how well we can fend off someone with a sword or a knife with those."

Camas laughs half-heartedly. "I could kill someone with my bare hands if I wanted to."

I shake my head. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

I can feel him turning to look at me, the way he's probably questioning what exactly I'm thinking. What tribute from District 4 doesn't want to go off hunting down the others, chasing after glory? Isaac would've done it. Jade and Zircon. Shaiden, and maybe even Mizell. But look where it got most of them: a cannon and their photo in the sky.

"I think we should just lie low again," I say.

"But we've been doing that." I can hear the frustration in his voice.

It's been almost two days since the feast. The youngest tribute, that little girl from District 8, died yesterday night. The tributes are shrinking more and more every day, and Camas is going to be getting more and more frantic to show off for the Capitol. Even I've noticed the lack of sponsor items. But things have to be so expensive at this point in the Games...

Still. If I had my way, we'd hide out every day and wait for things to wind down. After that... well, I haven't exactly wanted to think beyond that.

"Camas," I say, my thoughts escaping before I can stop to think about them, "why are you with me?"

He furrows his brow. "Huh?"

"Why are you still allied with me?" I say. I pick at a thread in my tan pants. "You could've left on your own by now."

"You're one of the best fighters," Camas says without hesitation. I thought he'd take a minute to think about, or give me some other explanation, but it takes me off guard. Fighting hasn't been something I've been doing much of in the arena. But he smiles. "I still remember at the training center, when you took the trident and got the dummy right in the neck. It was impressive."

I consider his words. "You could've stayed with Jade and Zircon."

Camas scoffs. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Yeah, see how well that turned out for them."

I peer at the colorful pebbles of the riverbed. If I died, would he say the something about me? Act just as callous? I'm not surprised when I realize yes, probably he would. And would I act any differently if he died? Probably I wouldn't. We've never been friends. I'm not even sure someone can really be friends in this arena. But, then again, the pair from District 12, Zoe and Jacob, didn't seem to grow apart from the arena.

If I stay here, in this alliance, I won't end up differently than them.

Shutting my eyes, I grit my teeth.

I try to imagine my face in the sky. I try to imagine it just like every tribute so far. If I stay, that's how I'm going to end up. Camas isn't going to let me keep going with these excuses about why I don't want to hunt down another tribute. That's come to an end. I need to move tonight, to leave.

Thoughts of home dance through my mind, replacing the images of my picture among the stars. I try to think to of the feeling of the cold ocean water on my hands, the burning sand underfoot, the way the salty air tangles in my hair. I miss the sunburns and the seagulls screeching. I even miss the storms, and the way our house would blackout in the thunder, and Mom would light lamps for us to see by.

"What are you thinking about?" Camas asks. His voice pulls me from the depths of my memories, and I frown at the arena as I open my eyes.

"The other tributes," I lie. "Who would be best to track down."

Camas perks up. "Yeah? I was thinking the guy from Eleven. Last I saw, he didn't have a weapon. The one from Eight has that sword... but I wouldn't mind finding Mizell either. He's arrogant, it'll feel good to take him down a peg."

The irony of his words makes my lips twitch. His self-assurance used to be reassuring to me, but now it just seems reckless. "We can go find them tomorrow morning. Everyone's still probably on guard after the feast. Maybe tomorrow they'll have started moving around more and be less cautious."

Camas nods. "That's a good point." He grins. "That's another reason why we're still allies. You're pretty smart, you know."

Smart enough to fool you. I tried to wipe away any of the guilt I feel. He really trusts me. I always saw myself leaving the alliance I had been in, but I'd never thought of it as betrayal. Just survival. And that's what this is too. I let myself think about the bloodbath and the young girl from 7 that Camas killed. I think of the way he chased the boy from District 11 and seemed so eager to kill him. The way he had been so ready to kill Jacob until Mizell stopped him.

I'm sitting next to one of the most dangerous people I've ever met.

But then again, I did kill Isaac. I'm dangerous too.

I take a deep breath and stand up. I grab one of the wooden spears we've sharped with rocks, and force a smile at Camas. "We'd better shape these up a bit more. If we're going to find someone tomorrow, we need to be ready."

"Why the change of heart?" Camas asks, getting up.

"I realized you're right," I say. "I need to make a decision."

He nods, smiling at me, and I imagine how he's thinking about how we're finally on the same wavelength. How, together, we're the strongest alliance in the arena. And I can even imagine how he's thinking about, once a few more tributes are dead, he can kill me too. I'm not going to let him get that chance.

We go to the riverbed, picking up rocks to sharpen the spears, and I pretend to be the perfect trained tribute for the last time.

Paitlyn Weaver, 16, District 3

I listen to the grotto bubbling, and pretend it isn't poison.

As afternoon settles over the arena the birds sing, things feel stiller and even the breeze seems gentler. It's the kind of respite that the Gamemakers aren't fond of - a calm arena means a bored audience. But this kind of calmness is usually permitted in the aftermath of a tribute dying, the Capitol sated for another day or so.

My gaze moves to Zephyr as he reorganizes his backpack for what must be the third time.

The cannon last night had made him jump. I didn't think much of it until the anthem started after nightfall.

Between the twinkling stars - are they real or area they just a projection? - the little girl from District 8 peered down at us. My breath had caught in my throat. She'd been allied with the tall from her district and Zephyr, and now she was dead, but neither of her allies were. I didn't need to look at Zephyr that night to know that he had expected to see her face.

He hadn't said a word to me and immediately gone to sleep in a tree. Or pretended to.

The boy from District 11 hasn't said much today either. We ate our breakfast in relative quiet, asking how the other had slept. I knew it would be wrong for me to ask him about the girl - about Twila. But I couldn't help being reminded of the first day here, that first night when I saw Simon's face appear first in the sky, beginning the funeral procession of the dead. Both of them were so young. I don't know if it's incredible or cruel that she made it this far in the Games.

"I'd better get going," Zephyr says.

I look up from my place at the grotto, snapped from my thoughts. I had known this coming, we had only agreed to one night of a truce. But I'm still surprised by how disappointed I feel. Suddenly I don't want to go back to listening to the birdsong by myself and existing in complete solititude here.

But every alliance has to end at some point in the arena.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Zephyr looks up at the blue sky through breaks in the foliage. "Now that we're down to a handful of us, the betting must be getting more intense."

I almost flinch. Usually I'm the one with the acerbic comment, but not right now. His words sound so crass, considering his ally just died last night, and it clearly bothered him even if he doesn't want to show it. But I don't push it. I can afford him that dignity. It's one piece of solace left, probably, that his emotions are his alone and not for the Capitol - they don't get the privilege of seeing him mourning.

I stand up and adjust my sling. I keep my arm dipped in the water every few hours. It doesn't help heal it any faster now, but it leeches the pain away like a local anesthetic, the kind that the doctors give the richer clients in District 3 for minor surgeries. With my knife in my boot, I'm feeling more confident every day now, injured arm or not.

"I don't really feel like having to fight you if it comes down to," Zephyr finally says. His brown eyes are honest.

"Me neither," I say.

We both don't acknowledge the silver lining between our words. We might not feel like it, but if the arena shrinks down to just the two of us a fight would be inevitable. It's the cruel irony of the Games that we have to hope our allies will die before we have to kill them ourselves. Even though Zephyr isn't really my ally, I still don't want it to end with us at least.

I swallow down my question. Do you want to stay another day? Can everyone else really die in a single day? Instead, I hold out my good hand. "Good luck. I mean it."

He watches me, his expression unreadable, and then takes my hand in his warm one and shakes. As he steps away to head off, I can't help myself. I can't say nothing.

"I'm sorry. About your ally. She seemed kind."

A flicker of pain flashes through his eyes, so quick I could barely catch it, and then he turns away. "Let's not run into each other again. Good luck to you too, Paitlyn." He pulls on his backpack and pushes his hair from in front of his eyes. When he walks off towards the riverbed he doesn't look behind himself. I watch until he disappears through the trees, his olive windbreaker eventually blending in with the other green leaves.

I peer down at the grotto. It still bubbles and flows. My face ripples in its surface, forming and then splashing apart over and over again.

The idea of just sitting down here along makes me want to run. To what, I don't know, but I know I can't just stay here. How did I survive almost two weeks by myself? How was I keeping myself sane? How was I alive in this place without someone else there to remind me that I'm still human, that I remember how to speak?

The arena feels too big now, but too smash, crushing me. I can almost feel the crackle of the electromagnetic forcefield invisible around us, holding in all of our lives and deaths, all the cameras watching me right now with their whirring mechanisms. The footage of Zephyr leaving is surely being broadcasted to Panem, to District 3. Pa is watching, Tyler is, Connor and Aubrey. All of Panem will know that I'm on my own once again.

A rush of makes me stand up straighter.

I have survived this long. I got a nine in training. I lived through the cornucopia and the feast. I got a sponsor gift. I killed the girl from District 1. I made it back to the grotto. I'm not going to just sit down and pity myself.

"I don't think you're going anywhere," I say to the grotto. The Gamemakers won't want to pass up the chance of some tribute still coming along and drinking it. Besides, Zephyr and I are the only ones who seem to know about it and he won't be coming back.

I pick up my yellow knapsack and start walking in the opposite direction of Zephyr.

As I walk, I can help thinking of Simon, even as I much as I try to turn my thoughts away.

He had fainted next to me at the reaping. I had just stood there next to him, collapsed, too in shocked from my name being called to help him up. The Peacekeepers had run over and carried him into the Justice Building. Ariana and Beetee were kind enough to not bring it up on the train. I had just sat next to this small boy, and I had known that he wasn't going to win.

I had felt ashamed in that moment. I knew it wasn't logical, but I worried he could hear my thoughts - or maybe he just seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Twila was never going to win the Games, not so young and with so many other tributes around. I don't like how curious I am about what happened. Was it the Career tributes that finally caught up to her? But if they did, what about the boy from 8? Maybe he left her alone, but somehow I can't imagine that.

It's one of the torturous things about the arena.

We can't know what all the other tributes are doing. It makes me feel blind. Back home, Connor and Aubrey will have the Capitol's coverage explaining everything. The screen will be projecting maps and clips of each of us. Ceasar Flickerman will no doubt be chattering away with details to fill them in. But I have no such advantage here. Another tribute could be plotting an ambush on me right now. I wouldn't know if anyone has a better weapon, and all I have to go off of is the feast.

I step over a patch of clover and try to organize things in my brain.

There's the boy from 2, the girl from 4, and the boy from 7. They're the only ones left from the Career Pack. If they're just as injured with burns as Jade was, it's a good sign. The Careers eventually turn on each other, stabbing one another in the back anyway. If they're still allied together it's only a matter of time.

Then there's the boy from 8. He has a sword, I saw that much at the feast, and probably no allies now.

Then Zephyr of course.

The girl from 10 is a variable I hadn't factored in much before. At the feast she was attacking Zephyr and the District 8 boy single-handedly with her knives. Is she the type to hunt down other tributes? She's the youngest in the arena now, I realize, but possibly one of the most dangerous. She had fooled all of us with her stoic act during the interviews.

It's so brilliant, I'm almost angry I didn't think of it myself.

Still. I got a sponsor gift, my water, so the sponsors must've liked something about me during my interview.

As I walk through the forest, the sun slips lower and lower through the sky. Afternoon melts into the pink and orange of evening. Bugs fly through the air, their wings shimmering like the silicon of a microchip. I take a break to sit down on some mossy rocks and eat a rationed lunch. The dried fruit is good, but I'm careful about how much water I allow myself to drink. Who knows when we'll get more?

Eventually the ground begins to slope up at a gentle incline. I follow it, stopping to look around myself every so often. I haven't seen another tribute since I've been walking but they could be around. I pull my knife from my boot, keeping it in my hand, ready at a moment's notice. The weight is reassuring, something familiar.

As I reach the top of the slope, the trees thin, and the rocks grow larger. My breath hitches.

From up here, I can see the horizon of the arena, the distant mountains on the other side of the riverbed and the meadow, colorful even from here. A cool breeze blows by and I wipe sweat off my forehead. Even if this fake - even if it's all just a hologram - it's beautiful.

I let myself sit down and watch at the sun begins to set.

From up here, I can almost feel some semblance of awareness. I can't see everything playing out like on television, but I can still see the area around my well. If anyone walks through parts of the meadow, even, I'll be able to see it. I can almost feel safe up here. I take my knife and stick into the earth, pushing it into the soft soil. My injured arm throbs the slightest bit, but I grit my teeth and try to ignore it. It's funny how freeing it feels, suddenly, to be away from the grotto.

From up here, I can almost pretend I'm not even in the arena at all.

Camas Speare, 17, District 2

The forest seems darker today.

Dusk settles over the trees, pulling their branches into shadows and making the empty riverbed look like a canyon.

I used to hate the night. I hated having to climb into bed, the day coming to end, all potential for anything else falling away as I fell into dreams. Sleep felt like a waste of time. If I didn't have to sleep, I could stay up for hours. I could be in the training room, I could be out at a party, I could be with a girl, I could be anything - but sleep always marked the end.

Now, here in the arena, the night feels like a threat.

Anything could be lurking in the dark shadows. There hasn't been a cannon all day. Everyone might be lying low, hiding like cowards. The other tributes left don't seem like the type to go play in the night. But I wish they would. I wish they would come find me.

"I wonder what it was like."

I turn, glancing over at Aqua. I can make out her profile in the silvery moonlight. She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

"What was like?" I ask.

"What it was like during the first Games," she murmurs. Her gaze is on the stars. Her chin is tipped back, neck stretched out like maybe she can get closer to the sky. "What those first nights were like for those tributes decades ago."

It's a stupid thing to think. She should know, after years in the training academy, covering the history of the Hunger Games. I look up at the stars too. "In the beginning, the Games lasted hours. Not days. Not weeks."

She's quiet.

I keep going. "The First Annual Games took three hours. It was in that Capitol arena, the one that's in ruins now. There wasn't anywhere for tributes to hide back then. No supplies. Just weapons. It took three hours for Drusus Primor to win. He brought honor to his district. Have you seen the photos? I mean, they didn't broadcast them back then, but they filmed some of it." I breathe the balmy night air in. "Can you imagine how he felt? The very first victor."

"No," Aqua says softly, "I can't."

Whatever she's seeing in the stars, I can't find it. They just hang there, glinting, uninteresting. I close my eyes instead.

I can imagine standing there, in that old arena, a time before the weaklings could hide out in the forest. A time where it was just the glint of steel weapons in the arena, not the distant, cold stars. If I close my eyes, I can imagine standing there over the fallen tributes, an initiation of blood, the last standing fighter. The best.

"I wonder if they were afraid," Aqua finally says.

"Victors don't get afraid, Aqua," I say, irritated.

She's been acting so odd the past couple days. Ever since she killed Isaac, Aqua's been looking over her shoulder more than usual, and after the feast she didn't even seem happy. We have food and water now, no need to forage for weeds and leaves to eat like animals. That bastard Mizell might've kept us from getting more, but that was temporary. Aqua should more thrilled now than ever. The tribute pool was shrinking. We were getting closer to the end.

I looked over at her. We'd talked about what Isaac had said. We had argued over it, and she'd sworn he was lying, said Isaac had been trying to manipulate me.

So... how did it feel to watch him die?

It felt like it was about time.

"I'm getting tired," Aqua says. She stretches, leaning over to lay down on the clover beneath us.

"We need to go tomorrow," I say. "Hunt down the others. We still need to find the tributes from Eight and Eleven."

She finally looks at me. Her cheek presses into the grass, and in the dark with the muted colors melted together, it looks like she's growing out of the ground. I expect her to argue with me, say we don't have enough weapons to take them on, but doesn't. She just nods.

"Sure," she says. Then she closes her eyes.

I stare out at the dark riverbed until I can't tell how much time has passed. My thoughts are filled with Capitol arenas, silver weapons, and the gold of the victor's crown.

When I finally lay down, I reach out and pull Aqua to me.

It's still dark when she finally moves. How long has it been? I'm half-asleep, but she sits up and gently, so gently, moves my arm from her shoulders. I almost ask her where she's going, what she's doing. But I can guess. I already know.

I don't open my eyes. I keep my breathing steady, keep my body still, and listen as she gets up. I listen as she rustles through our woven baskets of food and water from the cornucopia. Then I can feel her looking at me, somehow I know she's staring at me. I almost expect her to attack me - but we both know she won't. And then her footsteps are moving away, receding into the forest.

I open my eyes. The stars are still blinking above. I get up, and walk as carefully and quietly as I can behind her. She's hard to spot in the shafts of moonlight falling through the trees, she's probably avoiding them on purpose, but I can just make out the sounds of her footfalls.

As she passes into an area where the trees are a bit more sparse, I finally call out, "Aqua?"

My voice echoes in the still night. Even the bugs aren't making much noise, like they've vanished and left us alone. But the sound of her footsteps stop.

I walk closer and finally make out her shape as she turns. Even from her, her eyes look alarmed.

I pull my expression into a confused one, a pitiful one.

As I walk closer, she takes a step back into a silver beam of moonlight. She's fashioned a vine from the trees into a strap over her shoulder for the basket, food and water bottles piled up inside. Her eyes are wide, looking up at me as I walk over to her.

"Where are you going?" I say, hoping my voice sounds genuine.

"I..." She hesitates.

It's like I can hear inside her brain. She can't say she was going to the bathroom with a basket full of supplies. She can't say anything. I expect her to try to think of another excuse, make up something, to at least look guilty.

Instead she straightens her back and suck in a breath. "I'm leaving. You and I both know that there's only one victor. I don't want to have to fight."

I can't tell if she's telling the truth or lying. Have I ever been able to tell? I'm surprised that's she's bold about it, not even looking afraid. But I can still see the way her shoulders are tensed, her body taut in case she needs to run. But I'm not going to chase her.

Taking a long moment, I finally nod. "I guess that's pretty true. Things are coming closer to ending. Alliances can't last forever."

She seems surprised for a moment by my response, but steels her face just as quickly. "Then. Good luck."

I nod. I reach out a hand.

She takes a step back, but my fingers brush a luck of her hair on her cheek. I tuck it back delicately behind her ear.

"This was always going to happen," I say.

As she opens her mouth to reply, my fingers close around her throat.

Alarm flashes through her eyes. She tries to break away from me, but I reach out my other hand, closing it around her neck too, squeezing until she can't speak, can't even scream. She beats her hands against my arms, kicking at me, but I don't let go. I ignore the pain of her fists and stare at her face. It was always going to end like this. She was always going to have to die if I was going to win. I never wanted to kill her myself. But sometimes we have to make sacrifices.

"I should've known you were lying about everything," I finally say. Her hits are softer, slower now, her hands reaching to push against my arms. She's strong, but I'm stronger. "You weren't really cut out for this sort of thing."

Her eyes slip closed and her body goes limp. I lower her to the ground by her neck, head lolling to the side, and watch her as she doesn't open her eyes again. It was a lesson in the academy once, about how long it takes a person to die from being choked. It's longer than most people think. And I kneel over her, pressing against her throat, waiting for her to die.

When the cannon finally sounds, it almost me jump with how loud it seems, breaking the night.

I let my hands up. My fingers are sore. But I press two against her jugular, testing for a pulse I don't find.

The feeling of the adrenaline finally catches up with me. I sink the ground next the corpse, panting, my vision swimming. She's dead. I won. She should've taken the chance and killed me in my sleep when she could've. It's her mistake.

I look up at the stars, but I can't see the sky between the dark tree branches.

Once my pulse has calmed down, I get up. I snap the vine on her shoulder and take the basket of supplies in my arms. While I walk back towards the riverbed, I pause only to listen to the hovercraft, watching it descends and hovers over the forest, a claw drops down. It pulls her body out. As the hovercraft leaves the arena, I watch Aqua leave for good.

Alone, I return to the riverbed. I set the basket down next to the other one, settling back on the clover. There's still a depression in the leaves where she had been laying down next to me. Suddenly I'm struck by how extremely quiet it is. I haven't been on my own the whole Games. Aqua, or other allies, had always been next to me. The darkness seems to stretch out further, looming over me.

When I reach out my hand, Aqua isn't there. I shove down any tinges of loneliness that are starting to creep into the edges of my mind.

A flicker of silver catches my eye. I look up, but it isn't the stars.

A parachute drifts towards me. Hanging from the parachute is a silver sword, gleaming in the moonlight.

7th Place .:. Aqua Marie (15) - District 4: Aqua has always been a really complex character to me. She's one of the original characters from this story, and one of the ones whose profiles were lost in the SYOT Purge. I didn't have any of Aqua's backstory left to go off of, except the snippets I'd mentioned in my older version of the story. So I feel like she's a mystery to me, in party. But she's always been exceedingly clever, and a character whose morality is often tested and challenged. I think she represents someone in the Games who doesn't want to participate, but chooses her own survival over her own morals, and has to deal with that fallout.