Sometime this morning I made the decision to put my Original Novel on hold because I hate every second of working on it…yeah. And reading it back, you can tell. So I am putting my mental health first and QUITTING!

This gives me more time to write fanfic which is also a plus.

Katniss

Storm starts to complain as soon as the terrain gets rough. Me, I get excited. Reaching the mountains is one step closer to the arena, which is one step closer to Prim. Hell, I wish we'd started here.

It is a little disheartening just because our miles per hour go down so much, but I know we're still making progress, and I'm absolutely still champing at the bit. Peeta and Storm fall behind while I push ahead, but neither of them asks me to slow down. I assume they know it wouldn't do any good.

They do convince me to take a break, though, when we reach a fast-moving mountain stream. We packed a little, yes. But the tin water bottles from District Thirteen ran out quickly, and we're all hungry again. We go through the same routine: Peeta starts a fire, I hunt, and this time, Storm helps by filling all the water bottles. We just have to hope it's clean- I didn't bring anything for water purification, and we certainly don't have time to sit and boil it.

Soon enough, we're back on the road again. Well, it's no longer a road. We're following deer trails now, in the name of getting to familiar territory as quickly as possible. I certainly don't relish going back into the arena, but I know it'll be different this time. For one, I won't actually be trapped in there- with the war going on, I'm sure the Capitol has all but left it to rot, considering the second escape and the new craters Prim and her friends put in it. And I won't have enemies- this time, it's only friends. Or however you choose to describe my relationship with Storm. And I guess Peeta and I aren't exactly comfortably "just friends" at this moment, either. It's still better than what I went in with before, though.

There's still whatever nature decides to throw at us, I guess. But with my new bow in hand, I'm not all that worried about that.

With his energy renewed from lunch, Peeta keeps up with my walk. Storm is moving quicker too, but clearly not interested in chatting, which is fine with me. Realistically, it's probably better for us to all have our own space.

"You seem a little worked up, Katniss."

"Really? What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling."

I'm shaking like a leaf and even talking way too fast. "Worked up" is kind of an understatement.

"Well, just know that we're close. I can feel it."

The sentiment is appreciated, but Peeta should know I'm not taking anyone at their word ever again. Why would I, with the way things have gone recently? The word 'disaster' seems appropriate.

In reality, I just say, "Nothing looks familiar yet, though."

That isn't true for very long. We reach the crest of a grassy hill and find ourselves looking over the valley, a birds-eye view of the arena. It looks quite sad now, actually. Most of the snow has melted, since the artificial temperature control has either been destroyed or turned off, and the grass below is brown and matted. The charred remains of the blast site don't help either.

I can't find it anything but exciting, though. I shrug my bag higher on my shoulder and break into a run, being as careful as I can. There's a lot of loose rocks on the far side of the hill and they're slippery; this is maybe not my best ever safety choice. Still, I can't not run. We're so close; I just need to get there.

It's not as unsettling as I thought it would be. The territory is familiar, yes, but it looks so different than it did two weeks ago that I don't process it the same way. I'm not haunted by my own memories of the Games, just the desire to find Prim and make things right.

Storm doesn't seem to feel the same way, though- does she ever? "Hey, there's the tree Turquoise climbed!" she points out, jabbing a finger at the evergreen jutting out of a boulder. "When she busted the arena, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Peeta replies somewhat ominously. And really, how could we forget?

We reach the Cornucopia, and that part haunts me a little. I made my one kill of the Games there- a boy named Trace, in a fight that didn't need to happen. Too much has happened lately for me to think of him, but I remember him now, and a shiver runs down my spine. There's a reason I wanted to leave all this behind.

I kick some slush aside. There's nothing for us at the Cornucopia, not really. There's a couple shovels and other blunt instruments scattered around- weapons from the Quarter Quell that no one wanted- and some leftover land mines. Hopefully inactive.

The lake is still iced over, but I don't dare take a step onto it. Even when it was twenty degrees out, that ice was iffy. Now that it's eighty, I can only assume it's crossed the line into "hazardous".

We all know exactly where to go from here. How many times, when we were in the arena, did we make the trek from the Cornucopia to our camp and back again? My feet remember the path exactly, even if I find I don't really want to go there.

Even Storm gets quieter as we get closer to the site of our old camp. There are a lot of memories tied up in this from all of us, and as it happens, we don't have to get all that close to see the wreckage. The explosion was huge; several acres of land are upturned and exploded. Our old camp is completely gone, even the geyser we once used to cook our meals.

I don't miss it, exactly, but it is still strange to see something that was supposed to be permanent fully destroyed.

We stare at the crater for a few minutes, taking it in with equal parts fear and wonder. Storm breaks the silence after not too long. "Well, we know they made it out of the explosion. Which way did they go, Katniss?"

How strange it is for her to actually seek guidance from someone else. Maybe Storm does make a decent teammate deep down. "Southeast," I say, my feet already in motion.

I scan the ground for any sign of tracks, but with the ground a slushy mess, I don't get much out of it. It doesn't help, either, that every tribute is assigned the same model of boot and any track could be from any person. I find a couple scuffs and hope I'm tracking the right group- whoever it was, was running hard.

I'm so focused on the ground that it's Storm who hears the twigs snapping and snow shifting first. "Something's coming," she says in a low voice, readying her gun. Thirteen really made a mistake refusing her as a solider- she looks perfectly natural with a weapon in hand, like she was born with it there.

Part of me hopes it's Prim. The rest of me knows it's the wolves.

It's a smaller group of them this time, not the whole pack. Not that it matters- we're better equipped than we ever were last time, even if there are only half as many of us now. We fall into battle formation effortlessly- we have spent way too much time together- and start shooting. I draw arrow after arrow, but Storm still outpaces me easily. Maybe there is something to be said for modern warfare.

The silence feels oppressive when the last of the wolves finally goes quiet. No more gunfire, no more yelps and howls. I pause, making sure there's no more surprises, then I start plucking arrows out of the dead animals. "They're starving," I say, running a hand over one wolf's protruding ribs. "Haven't had a good meal in weeks, probably."

This relieves all of our worst fear: that our siblings had been eaten by wolves after the cameras cut out. It's not a guarantee of their safety- not by any means- but it does make me feel a little better.

Arrows retrieved and wolves dispatched, there's nothing for us but to move on. There aren't any signs of a struggle, so they must have gotten at least this far. And if they're out there, I'll find them.

It's easier to pick up their trail here. They were closer together and running hard, giving me more to work with. I can only hope they managed to outrun whatever was chasing them- the Capitol and its bombers, I presume.

I pick up the pace continuously, and this time Storm and Peeta don't protest. They're right there with me, offering words of encouragement and details I might have missed. Storm especially has an eye for tracking. I wonder if, during her Career training, she was taught to hunt people. I find the thought unsettling and try not to dwell on it.

We cross the line of the arena; the terrain changes where the force field sat. It gets even easier from there. They left clear tracks in the soft dirt, and I'm able to establish that all five of them were still alive at this point. Up the mountain we go.

There's not much I can do for tracking on stone, so I just try to see the land as they would see it. We stop at a large crag, all panting for breath. It's tough going up this steep slope, but there's no end in sight for us. At least we have a nice view.

"What about that?" asks Storm, cocking her head up the slope.

I follow her gaze to a small gap in the stone. It could be nothing, but it could be something, too. "Let's check it out," I say, no longer tired at all. I brush the dirt off my hands and we keep going.

Storm's instincts are right on the money- she's good at that, annoyingly. The narrow gap widens out into a decent sized cave, and there are undeniable signs of life inside. Peeta leans back awkwardly to let more light in, and I crouch down to inspect the fine dirt at the edges. "Boot prints!" I cry, with more enthusiasm than a person should really have for boot prints. "They were here!"

Of course, Storm still manages to be sour about it. "Well, they're obviously not here now. Let's get out of this dump."

We all shuffle out of the cave awkwardly- it really is small in there. I don't know how they squeezed five of them in there for any length of time, and that makes me doubt they'll return. Long-term, their party needs something bigger and more comfortable.

I look around and try to envision where they might have gone. I assume they would have wanted to get away from the arena, but instead of climbing straight up, I assume they would have turned sharply either to the left or right. I make a right turn and hope I'm not wrong. I guess there's really only one way to figure it out either way.

Once we get past the first hill, things get a lot greener. A lot wider, too- I can see for miles in every direction, up, down, and all around. It makes the whole "search" thing feel a little more impossible, but I will push on. It takes a lot more than a wide search area for me to lose heart.

"We'll find them, Katniss," Peeta keeps telling me in that urgent tone of his. "I know we will."

I don't have the heart to tell him, finding them isn't the problem. Saving them is. And for all we know, it's already too late.

"They were here!" I cry out suddenly, interrupting his millionth assurance that everything is going to be okay. "Look!"

Jabbing a finger at a plant may seem like kind of an unhinged gesture, but as always, Peeta gets me. He crouches down next to the sprout in question and inspects it for himself. "Oh. The ends are broken off."

"So they were here!" I exclaim enthusiastically. "This is aloe- someone must have a burn that needed treating."

"Does that really surprise you?" Storm asks sarcastically.

"…no," I say eventually, thinking of the explosion from earlier. With the summery weather, a case for sunburn could be made as well. "But now we know we're on the right track."

"Or we could be tracking the entirely wrong set of people."

Sometimes I think Storm is the voice in my head that expresses exclusively self-doubt. "There were no other groups of five, Storm."

"Maybe they teamed up."

"Let's just keep moving," Peeta suggests, and I agree immediately.

The trail of plucked aloe plants and trampled grass leads us to the greatest proof we could have asked for: a campsite, or the remains of one, at least. The fire, mostly ashes now, is still smoking, and the surrounding grass is pressed down; they were clearly here a while.

But they're not here now. My hopes all but dissolve, and I'm suddenly keenly aware of the phrase "so close yet so far". They should be here. They should be right here and the chase should be over. But they're not. They're gone and I have no idea where they went.

"Maybe they'll come back." Peeta's tone makes it clear he does not believe his own words. If they were going to come back, they would have posted a guard, they wouldn't have fully left at all.

"Yeah, right." Storm kicks the ground to indicate her displeasure. "It doesn't take a genius to see they left for good. We just have to decide if we're going to sit here and waste time or just go after them already."

When she puts it that way, the choice is undeniably clear. In fact, it's all but made for me, and I steel myself to push on once more.

Things get more fun again next week, stay with me.