Hey guys! Here's chapter 8.

Pocahontas sprinted at full speed for about five minutes before she reached Elsa's location. She slowed to a stop, hiding behind a tree for cover, and caught her breath.

Elsa's hand was still bleeding. Her crimson blood was trickling onto the ground, where it gathered in a pool.

Pocahontas's mind raced. Could it be that she couldn't shoot ice anymore?

Pocahontas watched as her suspicions were confirmed when Elsa attempted to create a wall around herself, and failed miserably, her frustration showing on her face.

What are you waiting for? a voice in her brain screamed. Taking a deep breath, Pocahontas charged out from behind the tree and down the slope towards the clearing that Elsa was in.

Due to her silent footsteps, she managed to get halfway down before Elsa noticed her presence. Startled, Elsa whirled around and took off towards the woods. Pocahontas ran after her in pursuit. Her fingers nocked an arrow, and after taking careful aim, let it fly.

The arrow narrowly missed, and instead pinned the top of Elsa's backpack against the trunk of a sycamore. Stopping in her footsteps, Elsa tugged desperately at the bag, even as Pocahontas advanced closer, but to no avail.

Elsa finally seemed to realize that she couldn't get the bag loose, so she turned and ran away without it, hurrying through a clearing and into the cover of trees. Pocahontas, determined to reach her, chased her in pursuit, but in her haste, her right foot caught against the trunk of the sycamore, and within seconds she was pitching ungracefully to the ground.

Pocahontas scrambled to her feet, searching desperately for a trace of Elsa, but the latter had disappeared into the sea of trees and it would be hopeless trying to catch up with her.

Pocahontas dusted herself off, heavy with disappointment. She couldn't help but feel defeated. It was as if she had failed Mulan and the rest of her district by squandering probably the only opportunity she would ever get to kill Elsa.

Sighing, Pocahontas made to turn back, when her gaze landed on Elsa's backpack, still pinned against the tree.

I might as well take her things, she thought. It took a few tries to jerk out the arrow, but after a few minutes, she managed to do it.

Pocahontas opened the zipper to see what was inside. To her surprise, a white medicine bottle lay at the bottom of the backpack, with the shiny red word "Aplexia" printed on it, the medicine used to heal fatal stab wounds from swords or arrows. Pocahontas furrowed her brow. She had guessed that Aplexia would have been inside her and Mulan's bag, seeing as Mulan desperately needed it. But to have the same medicine inside Elsa's bag was puzzling. Elsa seemed perfectly fine, except for the wound on her hand, but Aplexia was meant to bring someone back to life on the brink of death, not just to heal small wounds. There was other cheaper, better-suited medicine for that purpose.

A thought struck her.

What if they switched the bags?

Pocahontas's eyes widened. It seemed like just the sadistic trick the Gamemakers were always itching to play. After everything they had done before, it was far from below them.

In that case, there's no time to waste.

Tightening her grip on the strap of the backpack, Pocahontas sprinted as fast as she could back towards the cave.

"Mulan!"

The voice seemed so far away. Maybe it was her ancestors calling for her to join them. She wouldn't mind; it would be better than this living hell.

"Hold on, you're going to be okay!"

No, I'm not.

"You're not going to die!"

"Please let me."

"What?"

Mulan realized that she had said that out loud. She forced her eyes open and saw Pocahontas kneeling beside her.

"Don't worry, I got the Aplexia," she soothed, grabbing Mulan's arm to inject her. Her reward was a spray of blood in the face as Mulan coughed, each movement causing her more and more pain.

"Hold on. One, two, three!"

Mulan barely even felt the tingle it caused, but she did feel Pocahontas grabbing her hand and trying to rub some warmth into it. Mulan couldn't help smiling a little at the gesture, even though she was still ice-cold.

Pocahontas helped Mulan move into a position in which she could wrap the bandages around her. She cleaned the wound with melted-snow water, and then began the task of laying down the bandages.

When Pocahontas was done, she surveyed the work in front of her. She noticed that Mulan's blood loss had diminished drastically within five minutes, and she hoped that the pain would lessen at least a little. Although Pocahontas had tried to be gentle, she couldn't always manage it. The wound was obviously serious, and she had to bind it tightly. Mulan, on her part, had done her best to stay silent, but she couldn't always help herself. Pocahontas had told her repeatedly that she could scream, cry, or release whatever sound necessary to let out the manifestation of her pain, but Mulan wouldn't listen.

"Are you hungry?" Pocahontas asked.

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Cold, at least?"

"No."

"Does it still hurt?"

"No…" Mulan trailed off as Pocahontas gave her a look. "Maybe…"

Liar, Pocahontas thought. Only after force feeding Mulan some water and the remaining squirrel meat did she feel satisfied. After she was finished taking care of Mulan, she began to feel the soreness in her muscles and the blisters in her feet, the consequences for sprinting nonstop for about half an hour on bare feet. Oh, and the ice-coldness that was now running through her right arm and left leg.

"Should I build a fire?" she asked, unsure. "And Elsa can't shoot ice anymore," she added.

"How did that happen?" Mulan exclaimed. "And of course, go ahead. Even if she does see, I doubt she'll try to fight you without her ice."

Pocahontas tried to suppress her smile as she told Mulan everything while warming up next to the fire. The coldness went away after an hour, and they just talked the whole time, Mulan grinning with pride when she heard that Pocahontas had managed to get in two good shots within an hour: first, the shot to the hand, and then at the backpack. Pocahontas let slide the fact that she hadn't been aiming for the backpack, especially since Mulan seemed to be excited and a little back to her usual self.

"Here, let me get you a blanket," Pocahontas said, standing up and wincing at the pain the movement caused. The fire had helped with Elsa's injuries, but not her sore leg muscles, in which she was feeling the beginnings of a cramp.

"Quad stretches, you've got to do them,: Mulan tutted, recalling a memory. "I didn't do them on my first day of training, and the cramps hit me like a brick the next day. I could barely move my legs; I only got two feet up that pole. Shang yelled at me so much." She smiled at the memory.

"What's a quad stretch? And who's Shang?"

"Here, lift your leg up behind you and hold…"

"Who's Shang?" Pocahontas repeated while doing what Mulan said.

"The most honorable, brave, selfless, determined, brilliant, caring…" Mulan had to stop herself from ranting on with positive adjectives. Pocahontas got the drift and changed the subject upon seeing Mulan's sad face.

"Well, it's getting late," she stated. "Want to get some sleep?" Mulan nodded, shivering at the coldness that night brought. She curled up on her side so that the pain would be easier to bear. She had to remind herself that Aplexia would save her life, not ease her pain.

Pocahontas moved in next to her and laid the blankets over them the way Mulan had shown her the first day. She was alarmed to discover that Mulan's body was ice cold, and her arms were wrapped around her abdomen, as if she could press away pain. Without thinking, Pocahontas instinctively wrapped her arms around her and moved them up and down to try to create some heat, the way she would a younger sister, not realizing what it may look like to some viewers.

Mulan felt a little better in this position, almost comfortable. And she felt strangely safe with Pocahontas's arms around her, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"I ship them," Mr. Wiggins said excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat.

"Are you implying that they're both bisexual?" Mr. Ratcliffe asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you see them just now? If that wasn't spooning, I don't know what is—"

"I'm positive they were just cold—"

"I just administered a poll; 70% of Panem agrees with me!"

Mr. Ratcliffe stared at Mr. Wiggins for a few moments. Then he turned and walked away, shaking his head and muttering as he went.

Pocahontas slept fitfully that night. She dreamt that she was in the woods on the outskirts of District 11, and John Smith was there too. Pocahontas kept trying to run to him, but he remained just out of reach, disappearing whenever she got close.

"John!" Pocahontas cried out as he disappeared yet again. She ran forward to catch up to him, and a moment later, he came into view, standing by a stream.

"John?" she called again, this time more uncertainly.

John ignored her as he stared out the water.

"Why?" he asked a moment later, pain evident in his voice. "Why would you do that?"

"I— what? John, what are you talking about?"

"Mulan." he said, glancing up to finally meet Pocahontas's eyes. "Pocahontas, you're in the final three! Mulan was weak and dying. Elsa had lost her powers. You were on top! You were the alpha! You could have finished them both off!" John paused to calm himself down. "You could have come home," he said softly. "Why would you fight so hard to save a girl you just met? She'll kill you in your sleep, I'm sure of it."

Pocahontas gasped in horror at John's words.

"Mulan is an honorable warrior! She would never turn on me like that!" But even as the words left her mouth, Pocahontas began to doubt herself.

"Really?" John asked. "When the time comes, do you really think she'll hesitate for a second to kill you?"

"I—"

"No, she won't, and you know it."

"But—"

"No buts! You have to kill her now while you have the chance! You have the upper hand, don't you see that?"

"But John, I can't!" Pocahontas cried.

"Why not? Did you think she'd just let you win?"

"She's my fri—"

"No! Pocahontas, no one is your friend in the arena."

"But I can't kill her!"

"You have to!" Then, more softly, John added, "Don't you want to see me again?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then it's settled." John stood up. "You will kill her."

"No John, I can't!" Pocahontas pleaded with her eyes for John to understand.

Anger flashed across his face. "Can't you see what she's done? She's giving you every reason to trust her so that you won't kill her! Pocahontas, she's playing you!"

"I—I can't, okay!" Pocahontas sobbed, burying her face in her hands. The stress of the Games was starting to get to her.

"You have your chance. Why can't you take it?" John looked into Pocahontas's eyes. She didn't answer.

"Well I can't love someone who's willing to abandon me like this."

"What?!"

"Goodbye, Pocahontas." John turned and disappeared into the woods.

"Wait! John! Please come back!" Pocahontas started after him, but she was stopped when a cold blast knocked her to the ground.

It was Elsa.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, you fool!" Elsa cackled. She held her hand out over Pocahontas chest and was about to shoot when suddenly she was engulfed in flames. A new person emerged—Mulan. She stood over Pocahontas's cowering form, sword in hand.

"Did you really think I'd let you win?" Mulan snickered. She thrust the sword into Pocahontas's chest.

"No!"

Mulan opened her eyes sleepily to find Pocahontas sitting up, gasping and clutching at her heart.

Mulan sat up, alarmed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, placing her hand lightly on Pocahontas's shoulder.

Pocahontas shrugged it off. "Yes," she panted. "I'm fine. Just… had a nightmare…" Pocahontas looked at Mulan with watery eyes, still panting, and Mulan stared back, taking note of the uncertain, fearful expression that Pocahontas wore.

Pocahontas lay back down.

"Sorry," she said, her voice strained. "Just go back to bed," she mumbled.

Mulan gave her a quizzical look. Then, deciding to ignore it, she went back to sleep. She didn't awake until 11:30 the next morning—the Aplexia was making her drowsy—only to find that there was no trace of her ally.

Or any of her belongings.

Pocahontas flew through the trees and over logs, leaves crunching with every footstep. She felt an agonizing pang of guilt every time her feet hit theground. She had to get away from Mulan, she reminded herself over and over again. It wasn't safe to have an ally this late in the Games. But Pocahontas couldn't shake the feeling that she was making a huge mistake.

"For John," she muttered under her breath. "For John."

Mulan spent ten minutes looking for Pocahontas (she still was rather weak), unable to shake the nagging feeling that she was forgetting something. Then she remembered Pocahontas's nightmare and the look she had given her.

"No!" Mulan gasped, eyes widening in realization of what Pocahontas had done. "She wouldn't!"

Mulan breathed out a shaky breath, cursing herself for trusting Pocahontas. The logical part of her brain didn't understand why she felt so betrayed—Pocahontas had done what anyone would have at this stage in the Games. In fact, she should probably be thankful that Pocahontas hadn't killed her!

But Mulan, however unconsciously, had come to think of Pocahontas as the sister she never had.

Pocahontas ran nonstop for about fifteen minutes before resting. It was what she always did at home when she needed to relieve herself of her stress, and she was usually able to last a lot longer, if it weren't for the two backpacks she was carrying swinging back and forth with every movement of hers, the extra weight making her head spin.

She hadn't truly appreciated when Mulan carried them for her until she tried it herself. What felt like nothing at the beginning now weighed down on her shoulders like a thousand bricks.

Pocahontas felt another twinge of guilt, this time for taking all of their belongings. The honorable thing to do would have been to leave one bag for Mulan, or even more honorably, leave them both, but Pocahontas couldn't risk her ally keeping possession of their weapons in case Mulan found her later on and killed her for abandoning her.

For John, she reminded herself.

She tried to ignore what she suspected Mulan would have done.

You selfish brat, a voice in her brain snapped, she saves your life by taking an arrow for you and you repay her by taking advantage of the situation, running away with all of her belongings, and ultimately leaving her to die? The only reason she can barely move is because of you, because she is selfless and you are not—

"Stop it!" Pocahontas cried, not caring what the viewers thought about her mental state. Her head was pounding hard, and Pocahontas leaned against a tree and slid down the trunk until she was sitting at the base, hugging her knees to her chest.

Headaches from stress and fatigue, she was used to. It ran in her family. Migraines, like this one, she was not.

Pinching the bridge of her nose to keep from passing out, she waited in vain for the pain to subside. This, coupled with the awful guilt she felt over abandoning her ally, caused hot, burning tears to form in her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face between her knees. The world slowly darkened, then went black.

"Okay, I will to do this," Mulan said to herself for the fifth time in twenty minutes. She was sprawled on her back on the ground, the two blankets—the only possessions that Pocahontas had left her—clutched close to her chest. She had nearly passed out from the exertion of walking—or more accurately, staggering—around for ten minutes straight. All Mulan really had done was circle around the cave, slowly spiraling outwards, before she saw stars in her vision on her third circle. It was no surprise that she hadn't found Pocahontas.

Pressing one hand to her abdomen and the other against the wall of the cave for support, Mulan gingerly inched her way upwards until she was standing upright.

"Ow," she mumbled, grimacing at the movement. She slowly shuffled along the wall until she was in the open.

Great, she thought, staring at the steep decline in front of her. How am I going to get down…

Suddenly, an idea popped into her brain. Seeing her situation, it wouldn't hurt to try it (no pun intended).

She placed her two blankets on the snowy ground and carefully sat down on top of them. After pushing off a couple times, she slowly started to move. She gradually gathered speed and then the slope became steeper…

Soon, Mulan found herself flying down the mountain, a scream stuck in her throat. She was speeding along at an exhilarating pace, strands of hair whipping her in the face, and clumps of snow gathering in her hair…

Maybe the Hunger Games can be fun after all, Mulan thought with a wry smile as she reached the bottom. Her smile broadened as she saw a pair of footprints leading into the woods. So, Pocahontas hadn't covered her trail after all. She probably hadn't counted on Mulan being able to walk.

Serves her right, she thought bitterly as she followed the trail, using a stick as some sort of cane, like her father and grandmother did. She was moving at a pace that was slower than both of theirs, but she told herself that she would get there. Eventually.

Mulan wasn't sure what it even was she was planning to do when she found Pocahontas, but if she was going to die anyway…

She felt some illogical justification in dying next to her, at least. Or because of her.

An hour later, Mulan stumbled along the footprints, not bothering to rest. She saw a familiar figure leaning against a tree. The long, dark hair that hung around her head in a halo gave her away.

Cautiously inching closer, Mulan lurked in the shadows of the tall trees around her. She braced herself in case Pocahontas decided to kill her, which was very possible.

"Pocahontas?" Mulan said timidly, coming closer. She didn't move, so Mulan prodded her shoulder. When she still didn't respond, Mulan realized that she was unconscious.

What should she do now? Mulan weighed her options. She could take the sword from her backpack and kill Pocahontas right now. The thought made Mulan cringe. That was the most dishonorable thing to do; killing someone when they were down. Although Pocahontas had betrayed her and taken all of their belongings with her…

This brought Mulan to her next choice. Take Pocahontas's belongings, which she was technically entitled to at least half, and leave her be. Mulan's hands shook as she pondered the option. It felt like the most cliche thing ever, but she just couldn't do it.

She could do the honorable thing and leave without disturbing her. She should do the honorable thing and leave without disturbing her.

Reflect before you act. This shall bring you honor and glory. Mulan recalled the words of the final admonition that she had recited, or attempted to recite, before the Matchmaker back home. She had reflected before she acted, but it would bring her honor or glory, not both. Do I want honor or glory? she asked herself. With her options laid out in front of her in this manner, there was not a trace of doubt left in Mulan's brain which one she should choose.

She took one of her blankets and draped it around Pocahontas's shoulders. Then, she turned and walked away, not touching anything else.

Pocahontas slowly woke up with the feeling of something warm around her. Maybe it was a fireball that the Gamemakers had sent, like they did to Elsa. Maybe she had been transported to a deserted wasteland. Maybe, like the white Christians that had always preached to her insisted she would, she was burning in—

Wait, Pocahontas thought as she opened her eyes. She merely had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. But where had it come from? Sponsors? No, she didn't see any silver parachutes. Gamemakers? In her dreams. Other tribute? Like Mulan would even be able to stand, let alone walk through the woods for an hour. And Elsa? Sure, of course Elsa would be making her warm. Even if she did have a blanket, it would probably be ice cold or something…

But as Pocahontas looked closer, she saw that there was a pair of footprints right next to her own, and continuing away from where she was sitting. She looked down at the blanket, and she almost gasped out loud as her suspicions were confirmed. It was one of the blankets that she had left with Mulan, and it was the warmer of the two.

Pocahontas brought her hands to her face, and was not surprised that, for what seemed like the hundredth time since the Games began, they were wet with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mulan," she whispered out loud. "I thought I could paint with all the colors of the wind. But I know now; I could never be as honorable or as selfless as you." With those words, Pocahontas stood up and started following the footprints.

"That does it," Mr. Wiggins sobbed, bursting into tears.

"We did get a nice, dramatic, scene out of that, but nothing's been happening for the past three days," Mr. Ratcliffe frowned. "Perhaps it's time to send in some acid rain—"

"No!" Mr. Wiggins blurted out, desperate. "I can't bear it! We need a rule change! There should be two victors allowed!"

"You're just like those teenage girls on Headbook!" Mr. Ratcliffe snapped, referring to the popular social media website used in Panem.

"Look! Look at this poll!" Mr. Wiggins cried, holding up his jPhone for him to see. "92% of Panem agrees with me!"

"What?" Mr. Ratcliffe practically spat out the word like he had just tasted poison. "Give me that." He stared at the page, scrolling down to see the other polls. "What… how are people thinking this way? Do they not want a dramatic, compelling fight?"

"Now 85% of Panem ship them…"

"What's their ship name anyway?" Mr. Ratcliffe frowned, forgetting to be serious in the midst of his curiousity. "Muhontas? That is certainly, undoubtedly, irrefutably, unquestionably disgusting—"

"Pocalon."

"Pocalon…"

"Yes, and see how many people have put a hashtag Pocalon in their comments? 71% of them can't choose who they want to win, 68% say they would rather end the Games right now than let them go on, and—"

"Ridiculous!" Mr. Ratcliffe yelled, everyone in the theatre turning to look at him at his sudden outburst. "Nonsense! This isn't possible! They're supposed to like the Games!"

"Uh, sir, the fact that we force people from their districts to fight to the death in an arena probably doesn't help…"

"Quiet!" Mr. Ratcliffe silenced him, his eyebrows scrunched up in deep concentration. "Perhaps wouldn't be such a bad idea to give them a chance to have two victors if they last long enough…"

"Yes!" Wiggins exclaimed.

"But it won't be as easy as they thought it would. It's about time we started sending in some obstacles. Create another poll. I have an idea."

Elsa collapsed against a tree, fuming. How could this have happened?! She was the f*cking ice queen, for heaven's sake! How could she lose her powers to two weak, non-magical idiots?

"Gahhh!" Elsa clutched at her hair as she put her head between her knees, trembling as she tried to calm herself down.

This cannot be happening, she thought, choking back sobs that threatened to escape her. She sat like that for what seemed like hours (but in reality was only a few minutes), seething in anger and despairing over how her luck had taken a turn for the worst.

Elsa had never felt so powerless. She had always had a problem controlling her powers; she was always too powerful, not powerless! And besides the frivolous attempts by Hans, Elsa had never been attacked before either. She had never felt fatigue or pain like this, and she figured that that was the main reason she could no longer formulate ice. Well, the fatigue, pain, and them.

I will kill them! Elsa thought callously. Both of them. A sadistic gleam appeared in her eyes. First Mulan, she thought, picturing it in her head. Then Pocahontas. And I'll do it slowly, so she can feel my pain; how it feels to live in agony. All I have to do is use a few blasts to the—

And then she remembered.

"Pocahontas!" she screamed in fury as she stood up, thrusting her fist into the sky as if Pocahontas were a cloud and she could hit her if she shook her fist hard enough.

"I'll get you for this!" she cried, stomping her foot so hard that the ground shook and she fell, landing hard.

She hit something cold.

"What the?" Elsa muttered, looking down at the ground.

And there she saw it, the most wonderful sight she'd ever seen; a patch of glittering ice had driven a crack through the ground and all the way up through the trunk of the tree.

Elsa stared in shock for a few moments. She warily raised her hands out in front of her, mentally prepared herself for failure, and shot.

A blast of ice erupted from her fingers, with more power than she had ever mustered.

The blast hit a tree, and it exploded as the ice made contact with it, splintering into millions of tiny pieces.