Author's Note: I'm going to do another all-living-tribute POV chapter, because it was fun to write and (hopefully) fun to read. As of now, the living tributes are Osher, 2; Cleo, 7; Ridgen, 7; and Triticum, 11. Also, just as a side note, the reason that most of the tributes have weapons is because the Capitol citizens want to see some action. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Chapter 11: The Bloody Ground We Walk Upon

Number Of POVs: 4

OSHER'S POV (DISTRICT 2 MALE):

How am I supposed to make it to a feast in the shape I'm in? But I can't just pass up the opportunity for food when I clearly can't go hunting. They'll slaughter me in no time flat. I've just decided not to go when the thought, the inevitable thought, comes to me that the weapon there will be better than this lousy knife, and tuned to each of our strengths. For me, there will be a long sword, the kind that I can slice a person in half with in one swipe. Getting my hands on that is as good as victory, even with only one eye to see with in battle.

That's the problem, thoughs: I have to get my hands on it with only one good eye. I wonder what other weapons there will be and whom they will be for. I can't go but, really, can I afford not to go if it means no food and only a knife to defend with? I know the answer to that question but I really can't go.

But Cleo might be there, I remember. I can torture her—but no. I can do that when the Gamemakers drive us together, and I will be stronger as well. When noon comes, I'm still torn about whether or not I should make an appearance at the feast. The heat is intense and I need water, but I don't have any. I'm going to die if I don't show up. I decide to go there and at least scope out the situation, if not battle in it once and for all.

RIDGEN'S POV (DISTRICT 7 MALE)

A weapon. I have to go; I must. But sunset means reduced visibility and blood will definitely be shed in the form of sneak attacks and tests of new weapons. But the question is, what weapon will I get to have? Will I get an axe, because I'm from District 7? I hope not; I was never good with them and my time in the arena will not have remedied that. What I'm really itching to get my hands on is a spear, the kind that has a razor-sharp tip and is weighted perfectly, the kind I can impale the others onto all at once. But, for me, being short and unhealthily skinny, even my weapon of choice might not be enough to guarantee a win.

I climb over the treetops until I can see the golden gleam of the Cornucopia in the distance. That's when I swing down to mid-level on the thicker branches and I leap from one to the other like a squirrel—except that it isn't illegal to kill me.

When sunset finally arrives, I'm ready. Perched on the top of a branch, I jump down silently and run in for my weapon. But it isn't there. Neither are any other we-apons—just a huge platter of food. Confused, I take off in one direction then circle back around so that nobody will know I'm still there. Then, as I have done for most of this year's Hunger Games, I wait.

TRITICUM'S POV (DISTRICT ELEVEN MALE)

Ridgen darts off into the woods. Good. Now that he's gone, an unnecessary complication out of the way, I can focus on why our weapons aren't there. They're supposed to be. I don't see any of them; not a blade or bow in sight. Well, fine. If they want to make us come out into the open before giving us weapons, I'm not going to wait for someone else to make the first move, to have the advantage.

I stalk out into the middle like nobody's business, glaring at the tributes that I can't see but that I know are there. I enter the Cornucopia, stand behind the food table, and begin to eat. I go first for a warm loaf of bread, freshly delivered from the Capitol. The darkness is everywhere, but I can see enough to make out the figure of another tribute that's come to play.

Suddenly the food disappears and is replaced with weapons. They sprint the final few yards to the table of weaponry but I'm already there. They grab something, I can't tell what, and run off. I shoot an arrow in their direction with the bow that is clearly meant for me, but they are already gone by the time it impales itself into a tree. I wonder who that was and what weapon they seized.

Suddenly, out of the gloom, another faceless tribute emerges. I shoot an arrow at them and they stumble briefly but get back up again. I shout a curse and aim again, but suddenly there is a pain in my chest and I'm struggling to breathe. If they'd hit my heart I'd already be dead. I gasp for breath but I can't get enough. The small figure dashes over to me and extracts the spear that they tossed. I see the bow that I dropped but I can't reach it and I'm unable to use it anyway.

CLEO'S POV (DISTRICT SEVEN FEMALE)

The whole scene unfolds in front of me and horror pulses through my body. First Ridgen rushes into and out of the scene fast enough that my killer instincts can't react. Then Triticum struts in, acting like he owns the place, and I could swear that he could see me because he sends a glare my way that sends the message better than any words: Don't try anything or I'll kill you. Then Ridgen runs in again, steals a spear, and kills Triticum with it. We all hear his cannon boom. For the second time in these Games, a tribute has lain dying on the slick metal of the Cornucopia. Ridgen darts away and then I make my move.

I run in and my hands close around a dagger with a double blade that gleams in the moonlight. Osher sprints in and I see him turning in a circle, his depth percep-tion all thrown off by the injury. When his one good eye locks on me, I run away into the trees. Or I try to, but he's on me and I slam the dagger into his cheek, tearing the bloody flesh and I see a vaguely shocked expression on what's left of his face after the eye I stabbed turned purple and swelled shut, then became a bloody scab and now there's a cut on his cheek that tears straight through the skin. If he wins these Hunger Games then the Capitol will have a big job to fix him up and help him regain his vision.

As he runs for safety, I feel a memory coming on that I would rather suppress but I am helpless to its power. The next morning I finish the bread and find myself coming back to the place where the girl died, her body safely hidden away from the world, never to see sunlight again. One day, I come to the spot and sit there, leaning against a building and thinking. People walk past me but don't spare even a glance. I stare at them in wonder how they don't realize that someone DIED here, someone's life was there one second and gone the next, a girl who had as much will to live as I did but ultimately didn't get lucky enough to survive. That was when I realized that Panem was built on bloody soil, and that I have always taken for granted this bloody ground we walk upon.