Chapter Five: Thirst
The night is merciless.
A cold wind slithers through the trees, sinking its icy fingers into my bones. Katniss huddles inside her sleeping bag, curled tightly to conserve warmth. I sit nearby, perched on a low-hanging branch, wings tucked against my body. I can barely feel my fingers.
The iron in the arena is suffocating. It's in the weapons, in the Cornucopia, woven into the very fabric of this place. It presses against my magic like a weight, making me sluggish, dull. I hadn't expected it to be this bad. My breath comes in shallow, uneasy gulps.
Below me, Katniss shifts, restless. Her stomach growls, but she doesn't complain. Instead, she listens.
Far off in the distance, laughter echoes through the trees—high, taunting. The Careers. They're hunting.
Then, a voice rises above the rest. Familiar.
Peeta.
Katniss stiffens. I see her fingers tighten into fists, her body going rigid inside the sleeping bag. She doesn't say anything, but I can feel the questions swirling inside her.
Why is he with them? What is he doing? Is he one of them?
She rolls onto her side, pressing her face into the fabric of the sleeping bag. I watch her, unsure of what to say. The weight of betrayal lingers in the air.
Neither of us sleeps.
⸻
Morning comes sluggish and gray.
Katniss stretches stiffly, rubbing warmth back into her arms. Her lips are dry, her skin pale. I don't need to ask—I already know. She's dehydrated.
"We need to find water," she mutters. Her voice is hoarse.
I nod, though I feel weaker than before. My wings ache, my magic sputtering like a candle about to go out. I won't last much longer like this.
Katniss slings the backpack over her shoulder and starts moving. I follow, flying sluggishly beside her. The world sways slightly, my vision blurring at the edges.
We search for hours. The sun rises higher, scorching the ground beneath us. Katniss grows slower, her steps dragging. Her breaths come shorter, sharper.
No water.
We stop at a fallen tree, both of us exhausted. Katniss drops onto the ground, gripping the bottle in her pack. She shakes it, but we already know—it's nearly empty.
I land beside her, feeling just as drained. "You should drink the rest," I murmur.
She shakes her head. "Not yet."
Her stubbornness is infuriating. I exhale sharply, wings twitching. "Katniss—"
A silver parachute flutters through the trees, landing just a few feet away.
Katniss scrambles up, grabbing the tiny container. Her fingers shake as she unrolls the message inside.
"Almost."
She exhales in frustration. "That's all? 'Almost'?"
I frown. "Haymitch wouldn't send that unless—"
She freezes. Then, without another word, she's moving again. Faster. More determined.
I push myself into the air, struggling to keep up. My head pounds, my limbs weak, but I won't stop. I won't leave her.
Minutes stretch into eternity.
Then—
A stream.
Katniss collapses at the edge, hands trembling as she fills her bottle. She purifies it, waits impatiently, then drinks like she's been starving for years. Relief floods her face.
I let out a shaky breath, slumping onto a nearby rock. "Finally."
Katniss looks at me, really looks at me. "You don't look good."
I try to shrug, but even that takes too much effort. "Iron."
Her brows knit together in concern. "What do you need?"
I shake my head. "Just… rest."
She nods, settling against the bank. The water glistens beside us, a lifeline, a gift.
For now, we are safe.
For now.