Sorry this took so long guys, I really am. Life has been really hectic lately. Since I'm a senior I've had a ton of end of year projects to do, tests to study for, finals to ignore, and a prom date to get ready for, as well as another story on this site I'm also working on. Hope this one's long enough, the next one will come much, much sooner, Promise. Happy Reading, and please review! Your feedback keeps me motivated!

It was with grim determination that Prim managed to drag herself out of bed that morning to milk Lady before school. The tin pail felt heavy as lead in her hand. Each step was a marathon ran down an endless track to nowhere. Her cheeks were puffed and stained red from crying.

The previous night was a blur of sobs, tears, and misery in the back of Prim's mind. Her mother had cried as well. Odd as it may sound, Prim thought that was a good sign. When her father had died she'd hardly cried at all, and that was towards the end of her mourning period. No, instead of crying she'd simply shut down completely. Become a soulless husk simply taking up space in their home, and left her daughters to fend for themselves.

Katniss had never forgiven her for that. Not completely. Even after being reaped. She'd taken her mother in hand, and with harsh eyes and harsh words had demanded that she keep herself together.

'You can't leave again' the words echoed in Prim's mind. A tear formed in her soft blew eyes, falling from the tip of her nose into the milk pale. Thinking her sister brought nothing but tears. Tears, and a horrible sense of guilt and responsibility.

It was her fault, Prim knew. Katniss had stepped up to take her place in the Games. Sacrificed herself in order to save her little sister. And for that, Prim hated herself beyond all comprehension. More tears leaked unhalted down her cheeks. Katniss was going into the arena as the tribute of Panem's poorest district, pitted against the vicious careers trained from a young age to fight and kill without prejudice, and it was all her fault.

Prim knew it was her fault. She could blame no one but herself. So overwhelming was her grief that the voice of reason that sounded in the back of her mind, saying reassuring things like 'it's not your fault,' and 'your name was only in once. How could anyone have known?' was silenced at once.

Mind a haze of miserable guilt, the twelve year old blonde found herself walking through the gravel strewn streets of the Seam, her pail forgotten beside the door to her home. Despite the early hour the place was already a buzz of activity. Coal miners walked in long lines towards the mines with their equipment thrown over one shoulder. A few minutes into the walk Buttercup jumped out of the bushes to join her, a mouse's tail hanging from his mouth. He'd gone out the previous night to hunt for food. Apparently he'd been successful. This wasn't surprising, seeing as there were plenty of rodents about to feed a hungry feline.

Together the pair walked down the town's quiet streets. Shop windows were slowly coming to life with activity. Owners pulling back curtains, setting up displays and putting out open signs. To them the nightmare was already over, Prim couldn't help but think. Yes, just like every year they'd be forced to the town square to watch two familiar teenagers get slaughtered on national television. But, just like every year, they would watch, give the tribute's families their confolensces, and move on. their children were safe until next year. To them, the world would go on.

Prim's gaze moved to the bakery across the street. A thin plume of smoke puffed from the chimney, expertly frosted cakes lined the windows, and the scents of baking bread permeated from the building. The baker's family were they only ones who could possibly know how she felt. They too were losing a family member to the viciousness of the Capitol. Prim felt a wave of sympathy wash over her. Though she'd only spoken to Peeta Mellark a handful of times, buying the rare loaf of bread her family could afford, she thought she knew him fairly well. She saw the way he stared at her sister as they walked buy, eyes shining with deep, sincere emotions, and she could here the truth in his stammering voice when she'd asked about the staring.

He loved her, Prim knew.

That fact alone nearly destroyed his chances of surviving to the end of the games. He loved a fellow tribute. And when Peeta Melalrk loved someone, like his father before him, he loved with everything that he was. He wore his heart on his sleeve for all but the subject of his affection to see. In the arena he would do all that he could to make sure Katniss got out alive. He would put himself second, willing to die so that someone else would live.

And that broke Prim's heart.

It filled her with just the tiniest sliver of hope for her sister's chances, but she felt sympathetic beyond words for the baker's son. Katniss had no idea how he felt. There was no chance of his actions being rewarded. Yet he would still fight for her. Another wave of tears trickled down the youngest Everdeen's face. This time for the boy who she thought might have been just what her sister needed, a loving influence to calm the fiery rage that filled her heart.

Buttercup nibbled at her finger. No doubt he was hoping for a scrap of meat or a saucer of goat's milk to top off his recent meal. Prim giggled a little. A tiny, shaky giggle that sent trembling down her spine. Oh how she envied her pet today. He didn't understand what was going on, and could live like nothing had happened at all. Kneeling she took the cat into her arms.

Turning on her heel she'd intended to move back towards the Seam, but was stopped by a familiar call from behind.

"Prim!"

She turned to see Gale Hawthorne exit the bakery with a half filled game bag hanging from one arm. Dark bags hung under his eyes. It was obvious he hadn't slept a wink the night before. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a sort of tremor to his posture. Unless you looked close you wouldn't notice that his arms, muscled like olive skinned tree branches, were shaking.

"Gale!" the girl breathed in relief, wrapping her tiny arms around him in a hug. After the reaping yesterday he'd disappeared into the forest and hadn't returned even when it grew dark. He'd been hunting, that much was obvious from the bits of twig and leaves that still clung to his hair. "Thank goodness. You had us worried."

That was perhaps the understatement of the year. Hazel had been petrified that her son had ran off and done something rash. Like attack the nearest peacekeeper for example. His anti-captiol views were hardly a secret among the people of the Seam. Even though he didn't speak them much aloud, his body language more than illustrated his loathing of the government.

Prim had worried about him almost as much. During the years since he and Katniss had started hunting together, he and the Hawthornes had become something of a second family to her. Gale was like her older brother. He certainly treated her like a younger sister. Like he did Posy, only lacking the overly sweetened baby-talk that befit toddlers.

Gale smiled. It was a forced, unnatural curve of his lips that required a great deal of effort.

"I'm fine" he said. "I can take care of myself out there. You know that." He paused, staring off into space in a pained, almost longing way. Abruptly he moved a hand to his game bag. "The fence'll be turned on during the games, what with the electricity hooked up for the screen in the square, so I figured I'd get a head start stocking up on meat. Were gonna need it. I can only get so much myself without...without Catnip here..."

Again he trailed off, the gray of his irises melting into stony pools of despair. He loved Katniss too. Everyone knew that. It was obvious. To everyone except Katniss at least. Catnip was his pet name for her. One she'd only ever let him call her by. They were thick as thieves, those two. But, being the emotionally oblivious rock that she was, Katniss had only ever seen their relationship as platonic. Nothing more.

Gale's feelings were something that brought Prim an unprecedented amount of guilt. She knew how much he cared about her sister, his feelings were obvious. But she couldn't help but feel that he wouldn't be good for Katniss as anything more than a brotherly friend.

Leaning forward she peeked into the game back. A large turkey took up most of the space, it's legs tied and it's feathers rumpled from confinement. Bits of brown hair covered the other side of the interior. He'd taken at least three squirrels that morning. That was good. The baker was rather fond of them, and traded piping hot bread for every perfectly skewered squirrel he recieved.

The last item in the bag was a lumpy brown bag steaming with the heat of the bread within. It was much bigger than usual, containing at least five whole loaves.

"You must've had a lot a squirrel to trade" Prim said, trying to make idle conversion. She didn't fail entirely in that respect, but the usual cheeriness was gone from her voice. There was no cheeriness to be found today.

Gale nodded, snapping out of his daze.

"He gave me extra. Said it was for you, to make sure you're eating with Katniss gone." His voice was hollow. Prim jerked up from the bag to meet his eyes. The baker was sending extra food for her? Why would he help to feed the siblling of the girl who was to fight his son in the arena? Who may very well be the cause of his death?

"Why?" she squeaked. Part of her wanted to send it back. Katniss would've wanted to send it back to. She hated the idea of charity. Taking charity would mean that you owed someone something, and owing a debt was as good as a noose secured around your neck. Gale shrugged.

"Don't know...Don't question it too much though, Prim." This comment only confused her more. That didn't sound like Gale at all. Thankfully, his next words clarified his meaning. "You and your mom need the food, Prim. Take what you can get. Katniss may not like charity, but if it means keeping you two alive, she'll make an exception."

Prim nodded. That sounded more like Gale. Willful determination in the face of hopeless despair.

"I'll drop the bread off with your mom, okay?" Gale said as he fastened the bag shut. Already his mind had started to drift back to it's own little limbo, populated only by thoughts of Katniss, and his fear of losing her. That funk would clear up in time. By mid afternoon he would be his old self, with his emotions tucked securely into the back of his mind where they wouldn't bubble to the surface and bring untold misery to his psyche. "I have to drop the turkey off with mom. She'll want to get started preserving this meat. It'll have to last as long as the games do."

Kneeling down to her level he pulled her into another tight, brotherly hug.

"Be strong, Prim" he told her quietly. "Katniss needs you to be strong for her. Can you do that?" Prim nodded without hesitation. She would do anything for her sister. Even if that meant swallowing her own fear in order to survive the coming weeks. Even if it meant never seeing Katniss again.

She pressed a kiss to Gale's cheek.

"Thank you, Gale" she whispered.

With one last squeeze, he stood back up and walked off down the street towards the Seam. For some reason Prim found herself standing there scratching Buttercup under the chin. A few moments later, after Gale had disappeared completely around the corner, she got to her feet and started walking. She had to get home and get ready for school. School sounded even less appealing than usual, what with her heart feeling like a ball of semisolid lead in her chest, dragging her down.

A warm summer breeze picked up as she walked. It blew fallen leaves across the muddy dirt street, tumbling them in a cascade of all the shades of green imaginable. Though life their could be harsh, Disctrict twelve did have some beauty to it. It was surrounded by perhaps one of the last truly wild forests in the country, the rest of them either cleared away for Games arenas or chopped down for lumber. Prim liked the woods, no matter what Katniss said.

No, surviving there was in no way her forte, but there was a strange serenity about the trees. The various herbs and plants that dotted the ground and plastered the sides of trees trunks, with the power to heal sealed within. Those sang to her in a way she never quite understood. Healing was her calling. She knew that even at such a young age. She would've been a doctor if she could, but that was beyond impossible. No true medical schools existed outside the capitol, and the majority of groundbreaking medical technology was kept hidden away from the districts. The capitol couldn't have them becoming self reliant.

As she walked Prim made a mental note to ask Gale to gather more herbs the next time he was out. With the fence active, she and her mother wouldn't be able to gather the necessary cures for common illnesses or cuts. That would be disastrous. She made a special effort to keep her mind on herbs and away from Katniss. Maybe that would help her grief.

When she was only about twenty yards away from home, she was stopped a second time.

"That was an awfully brave thing your sister did" said a raspy voice. Prim turned ninety degrees to see a wizzened old man huddled against the wall of a delapidated shack with holes in the roof and no glass in the windows. A snow white beard curled from his chin, and a decaying gray robe was wrapped around his thin frame. What Prim noticed about him though were his eyes. They were a brilliant, sparkling green. He held a gnarled looking cane, and his skin was wrinkled as an old piece of leather. But his smile was kind, sad and honest. She recognized him. He was an old beggar who sat by the street in town. He continued. "It reminded me of a man I once knew. He gave his life for his friends, and for that he was never forgotten. My condolences, Miss Everdeen."

"Thank you" she replied. She meant it, but she was unsure of what else to say. His smile grew a little wider.

"You're very welcome, my dear. Many would look on your sister's actions as foolish, but I'm a very old man, and I know a hero when I see one. She's going to win these games, you know. It's written in the stars themselves. Here, take this" he reached into his pocket and withdrew a large coin. He placed it in Prim's hand and closer her fingers around it. She gasped. It was gold, not the gray copper and tin that currency was usually made from. Not only was it gold, but it was nearly the size of her fist. Unfamiliar characters were etched around the edges, and a person's head, crowned in laurel leaves, was drawn on one side. Reeling in shock, she looked back up to find him grinning toothily.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A friend" the old man answered simply. "Think of that coin as a gift. It should fetch a fair price down at the hob. It's not often they get any gold there, let alone gold pure as a dramcha's." Leaning heavily on his cane, he reached out a withered hand and squeezed her shoulder. "As I said before my dear, your sister will return home alive. Certain parties are making sure of that. Have no fear, Katniss Everdeen has far too great a fate to die a victim of the capitol's Games. I can promise you that." Giving one last kind smile, the old man turned and hobbled away, cane trembling under the weight of his all but skeletal form.

"Wait!" Prim called, shoving the coin in her pocket. With a few quick steps she'd caught up to him. "Who are you?" she asked again. "Why are you helping me? What...what are you talking about?" Her face was bewildered. Understandable, seeing as matters of fate and mysticism hardly ever came up in District twelve.

"As I said, I'm a friend." He flashed another smile, drumming his finger down the length of his cane. "You and your sister are a very special kind of people. Music flows in your blood, archery comes as second nature to your sister, and healing is your calling. Did you think that was all coincidence? Those talents have to come from somewhere. Destiny has a lot in store for your sister, for you as well, I'd wager. After all, she loves you more than anything else in the world. She's fighting in that arena for your sake. And some of the people in charge of things are trying to set the odds in her favor. The world will need her, soon." Again he turned to go, but as he did so he looked back over his shoulder and said. "If you're curious to know more, perhaps you want to help, then go to the forest with the hunter boy the next time he goes. A very old friend of mine will tell you more."

Then, without another word, the green eyed old man hobbled away. Prim stood there for a quite a while afterwards, not knowing what to do. She blinked. Buttercup grew fussy in her arms and wriggled himself free.

What had just happened? Who was that old beggar? Tentatively she reached into her pocket and withdrew the heavy gold coin, weighing it in her hands. Should she do as he said and go to the forest? Or should she dismiss the whole encounter as the meaningless ramblings of a senile old man?

Katniss hadn't been sure what to expect of the Games training facility. Bits and pieces of it had been shown in the television coverage of the Games, snip-its of the tributes training with weapons or running obstacle courses. All of these were present, with various training stations set in intervals around the room. Capitol instructors stood at each of them, ready to teach the Game's participants in the ways of battle, knowing fully well that twenty-three of their pupils would die very very soon. Along the walls the Gamemakers sat in chairs with clipboards, whispering behind their hands as they observed this years selections. These Katniss had been prepared for.

What she hadn't been fully prepared for, though Haymitch had warned her at breakfast, was the room's atmosphere. It wasn't anything like other gatherings of young people such as school. A tense aura hung about the place. Heated stares shot back and forth between tributes. Fists tightened, knuckles cracked, and slowly the twenty-four condemned adolescents began to break off in different directions. Some gathered in groups. These were the beginnings of alliances that would determine the flow of the games. A large crowd gathered around the boy from two, Cato, as he demonstrated his affinity with a sword for the cameras, hacking a practice dummy to bits wicker and foam. The groups that formed were not of friends, but of temporary allies. Even between them the tension was sharp as a knife.

Others went off by themselves. Thresh, the enormous dark skinned boy from Eleven took to the corner punching bag and unloaded a flurry of powerful blows. Each time his fist impacted the bag it let off a loud cannon-like slap that turned heads from all over the room. His little girl counterpart, Rue, took to the climbing courses as eager as a monkey. She climbed with incredible speed, topping a twenty foot structure in a matter of seconds. With her small form and lithe movements, she'd be one to watch during the games. It wouldn't be the first time when the small unassuming kid had surprised them all and emerged the victor.

The girl from two threw knives at a series of targets along the north wall. The girl from one talked to people, flirting her way into the ranks of the career alliance. Others picked up weapons, completely unfamiliar with them, and tried to master their use as fast as humanly possible. If they didn't know how to fight they'd be slaughtered in the bloodbath at the cornucopia.

Following Haymitch's orders Katniss stayed away from the bows and arrows, temping as their flawless craftsmanship was. She needed to hide her talent for when it mattered. To let her marksmanship be her unexpected trump card to pull on her opponents when she needed it most in the heat of combat. Showing off now would only tell them what to expect.

Instead she'd opted to try out the survival stations. Fire starting, plant identifying, building a shelter, these all came easily to her. Two hours into the session she'd moved to the camouflage station. Peeta was busy painting his arm the color of bark, detailing tiny creeping vines crawling their way up the bark's surface. That was something else she hadn't expected. Peeta. Since the opening ceremony the previous evening he'd been with her almost constantly. She supposed he was trying to continue the team work strategy he'd started with holding her hand. that was well enough. Even Haymitch had said that was a good idea. Sponsors would be drawn to the idea of two tributes united in the name of their district.

Good strategy or not, she still didn't like it. The blonde boy's very presence unnerved her. It made her feel weak, exposed, and vulnerable. Memories of that night in the rain flashed through her mind. That night with the rain and the burnt bread had been her hour of desperation. She'd been on the brink of starving, and of giving up entirely. Then Peeta had tossed her a lifeline. He had saved her life, her families lives, and she hated him for it. She owed him. Debt wasn't something good going into the arena. What bewildered her more than his presence was his attitude.

For one thing he was always smiling at her. Whenever their gazes crossed his baby blue eyes would light up, and his expression would break into a smile. She'd asked what was wrong, to which he'd replied 'nothing' before scratching the back of his head uncomfortably.

Looking away from him she carefully brushed moss green paint over her left forearm. The shading was right, but the consistency was off a bit. Using her brush she thickened the paint's coat. She looked over her words with critical eyes. There, that was perfect. Onlya very careful eyes would be able to tell her skin apart from moss growing on the side of a log.

"Good job" Peeta praised off to the side. Katniss glanced over at his own work, which had started to include some of the finer details. Crawler vines creeped along his arm like green veins. The bark had a gritted texture to it, using lumps of hardened pain to create the little knobs that peppered a tree trunk's surface. In comparison to Katniss' work, it was a masterpiece. Apparently frosting cakes wouldn't be as useless in the arena as people thought.

"Thanks" she said back neurtrally.

He looked at her expectantly, as if expecting her to say something else and carry on the casual conversation. When she didn't, he turned back to his work and started painting flower blossoms opening at his fingertips. Coversation wasn't something Katniss was really any good at. She'd never been a talkitive person, and the only person she'd ever felt really 'talking' to was Gale, and he was hundred of miles away in the woods where they both belonged.

She reached for another brush, intending to try her hand at drawing a stretch of ivy across her legs, when a heavy finger tapped her shoulder. Instinct taking over, she spun to find Thresh standing behind her. With a blank face he pointed towards the far eastern wall at a Gamemaker women sitting beside an empty chair, peering down at a clipboard.

"You're next" Thresh told her before moving off towards the work out equipment. Katniss' brows knitted themselves together cautiously. Tributes had been moving back and forth between her all morning, sitting across from her while she talked and occasionaly scribbled something down on her board.

"Who is that?" she asked Peeta, pointing at the women. He looked.

"Psychologist, I think" he said as he added a slash of red to his rose blossom. "Haymitch mentioned they'd had have down here. Guess she's talking to each of us, profiling us. Guess you're next. Good luck."

"Thanks" she replied tensely. At once she began schooling her face to complete indiffence. She couldn't let herself look weak in front of the Gamemakers. Their scores would help to determine her sponsors, and her sponsors could end up saving her life in the arena. Using a nearby rag she cleaned off her forearm before standing up and heading towards the woman. Each step she took with precise care. Not too fast. Not too slow. She musn't appear nervous.

"Good morning" the woman greeted as Katniss took her seat. Like all the other capitol residents Katniss had met she was dressed in a mosaic of different bright colors. Her hair was done in great loops that hung down past her knees, and her eyelashes were flared upward. A pair of reading glasses was perched on her nose, magnifying serene gray eyes that pierced and analysed everything they saw. They seemed familiar to Katniss, though she couldn't say why.

"Hello" she intoned quietly. No emotion showed in her voice. Perfect.

"I'm Belle Minerva, the Games psychiastrist, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?" Katniss stared. Was it alright? She had a choice? Since arriving here there had been no choices, only things she was required to do. Smile for the cameras, wince under the hands of the sylist, and let the avoxes serve her as if it were nothing. Belle Minerva apparently saw her confusion, because she explained herself.

"We're sending you all into the arena to die, anyway, my dear." She said this almost mournfully, fiddling wither her hands and tugging at her hair loops. "I'm not going to force you to do anything. My colleagues," she gestured to the other Gamemakers who were gathered around a table full to bursting with food. "But I see no reason to force my questions on you when we've already been forced here to do something no one should ever have to. Now, I only have one question for you dear. Would you mind answering it?"

For reasons Katniss would never know, she nodded. Something about this woman compelled her to trust her, and that scared her greatly. Trust could get you killed very easily.

Readying her pen, Belle Minerva asked her question.

"Why are you here?" A long silence followed. Why was she here? Well, that was obvious, because the capitol had dragged her hear as a sacrifice of course. But Katniss could tell that wasn't what the question had been asking. She thought about it for a long moment, before the answer occured to her, clear as crystal, obvious as could be.

"My sister" she said. "I'm here for my sister." The capitol woman smiled.

"You're a very brave girl, Miss Everdeen." She wrote something illegible on her clipboard. "Yes, I think you'll do very well. Very well indeed." Her gaze softened, and in a gravely serious voice she said. "Not everyone in the capitol thirsts for your blood quite as thirstily as the viewers do, Katniss. There are those in high places who'd like to help you. The question is, will you let them? I'll be watching you my dear, good luck."

Katniss could only stare as the woman rose from the chair and departed. Pure, unadulterated bafflement showed on her face. What the hell was that? Suspicion and caution bubbled back to the forefront of her mind. It was just another capitol game. A trick to lull her into a false sense of security. That was it. As she made her way back to the camouflage station, Katniss decided she'd be watching the Gamemakers just as they watched her.

They were up to something, and that could mean nothing good.