A/N: Hello once again! I've gone and done my classic move - promised to be better, and immediately was not. I truly do have the rest of the story planned out (finally), and I hope to actually update fairly regularly until this is complete. For reference, there are seven more chapters planned, and then this fic is officially complete. Until then, I hope you enjoy, as always, and that you are celebrating the beginning of summer!

Also, this is slightly longer than the last couple of chapters, but I'm apologizing now. You'll understand why.

zaneri0t: Thanks so much! I hope you like it!

Nyac Silver Fang: Sorry for the wait, here you go! I'm glad you like it so much!

...

When Nate was young, he used to like dumping cups of cold water on me when I wasn't expecting it. He thought it was funny. I always chased after him, tackling him to the ground so that the water would soak into his clothes. It got us both into trouble every time, but that never stopped Nate.

The moment that I register the roar, it's like an entire pond is dumped on me. My limbs freeze for the slightest of moments, my heart lurching into my throat. Every sense is put into overdrive, and I can't breathe properly.

The good thing is that my opponents are just as terrified. Cato whirls in circles, brandishing his sword like its mere sharpness will scare off the creatures. He gives a shout to the two girls to stay near, and I learn that the other girl's name is Glimmer. At least I'll know all of their names when they try to kill me again.

That is, if these creatures don't beat them to it.

Glimmer draws the bow away from me so that she can scan the tree line. Clove and I refuse to let our guards down too much around each other, keeping a weary eye out – we both know our abilities with knives. The only one I can't see anymore is Peeta, but I imagine he's nearby, watching just as closely.

Now that I know the Careers are more than likely going to focus on their survival before my death, I search almost desperately for the source of the cry. My instincts tell me that the initial outburst is not the only threat nearby, and when I pick up a low grumble to my right, I know my instincts are correct. I don't dare to move, too paranoid that a single step will set off whatever animals are surrounding us. Within the next few seconds, I sense several more make an appearance. What I can only assume to be the initial animal stalks into the opening where the five of us are standing, and I avert my eyes from its face. If this creature is like some predators, simple eye contact is enough to make it charge.

I must be the only one who knows this, because Cato noticeably begins to draw his sword to challenge the animal. Glimmer and Clove follow his lead with their own weapons. They may be after my life, but if they are attacked, I am helplessly in the crossfire; presumably, so are Poppy and Rue, despite not seeing them in the vicinity. It's a mere instant before I spit Clove's words back at them. "You must be the ones with a death wish, not me!"

Unsurprisingly, they don't listen to me. All it takes is Glimmer aiming an arrow at the beast for them to attack. And they attack rapidly.

The first thing I notice is their size. At full height, these beasts come up to my waistline and are broader than any animal I have seen. Second, their speed and agility doesn't match that size. Because the jungle floor is absolutely covered in vines and roots, I assume that it would slow them down, but they leap using powerful hindquarters and weave with astounding agility. Their appearance most closely resembles what I've learned in school to be a jaguar, but the slight alterations all but confirms these are mutations of the Gamemakers' design. These creatures have sharper teeth, less fur, and an intelligence level that's far superior than their predecessors.

I don't have the luxury of assessing my surroundings, because two jaguars immediately begin circling me. Each move I make counts, so I choose to fight primarily with my newly acquired sword. Keeping the knives for an emergency is ideal here, especially since I only have three. When one cat leaps towards me, I only barely manage to stab into its chest before I have to slash into the second, who has decided to go for my throat while I was preoccupied. A low growl is the next warning, and I dive away before the next jaguar leaps into me.

An arrow flies over my head as I begin to recover. I can't help but shout, "Watch it!" Glimmer, who has several less arrows than what she probably should, spares me only a glare before she's shooting into the eye of another cat.

After that, it quickly becomes a blur. I take down a few more jaguars, each as challenging as the last. On the fifth one, when my muscles are starting to truly feel the strain of exertion, I glance up to see Peeta nearby. I haven't gone unscathed in this fight; my hip stings in protest when I move too sharply, the scratches from one particular jaguar a testament to my failed effort. Peeta, fighting only with a dagger, is doing remarkably well, killing them left and right with relative ease. Despite a hurt forearm, when a cat lunges for his throat, he stabs into its chest and throws it away as if it were a sack of flour at the market. A deep appreciation for his sheer strength surfaces, and I turn back to my own creatures, feeling minutely more light-headed than before.

The sounds of the creatures dims. I hear the crashing of vines and know that the other members of the Career pack have shifted further into the jungle, leaving only Peeta and I in this clearing. Poppy and Rue have not made an appearance in the battle yet, so I assume that the Gamemakers didn't force them into this battle. The thought brings my muscles to slack a bit too much, and I have just stabbed into a jaguar's eye when I hear his warning above the loud animal cries.

"Lucy!"

Before I can even think of reacting, I hear a yowl of pain from another predator directly behind me. I turn just in time to see Peeta hurl its carcass off to the side. A harsh shiver rolls down my spine. It takes another few seconds of staring wide-eyed at him to process the fact that he has just saved my life. My perception of him has turned anew yet again. Peeta slumps a bit, only offering me one more sentence as he turns back to the fight.

"Please, be more careful!"

His words have simultaneously comforted and confused me. He still cares, despite being with the Careers for the majority of the Games. I feel a significant shift in how the Games will play out from this point on, as I now understand that my initial feeling of there being more to his decision has proven to be true. Yet, I have to shove the thought into the back of my mind once again. My attention, as Peeta has reminded me, needs to be elsewhere.

However, no matter how hard I try, I become highly aware of Peeta at my side. His presence has calmed me now that I have confirmed something else is at play, regardless of the still raging battle. With no act to keep up, Peeta chooses to fight back-to-back, and I find I'm grateful for it. The two of us fall into somewhat of a rhythm, until the jaguars finally start to dwindle. Just as I begin to relax my muscles once more, I sense something wrong is about to happen.

About a minute later, it does. The remaining jaguar that Peeta has shows by far the most intelligence by targeting his stronger leg. Peeta is forced to attempt dodging, but his ankle simply cannot support the rapid movement. It's only luck that when the jaguar goes to strike, Peeta's already going down. I only just kill my last attacker when I hear the thunk of his head smacking into the tree.

On instinct, I drive the sword into the jaguar's shoulder junction before it can get a true leap at Peeta. It yowls more out of anger than pain, yet I know I've done serious damage to it when it turns to face me. I spare a rapid glance to Peeta to see him trying to drag himself up, but the damage is done. His head trickles blood and he wobbles dangerously when he brings himself to his knees. This fight is over for him. Peeta has saved my life, and it's time for me to save his.

The jaguar knows what my thought process is, and lunges for me. I quickly roll away, but this particular cat is far more advanced than the rest of his pack. I barely manage to bring the blade up before his jaws would lock around my throat. I'm holding it back by the flat of the blade, but the predator is pushing with so much force that the edge digs into my palm and I grunt with both the effort and pain. Blood pools in my palm, and it takes every ounce of what little strength I have to hold the beast back. Even then, I know I'm only successful because of the damage my blow did to its shoulder. Regardless, seeing such sharp teeth so close to my face is easily the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. Yet, for Peeta, I endure.

Right when my arms start to give, the cat yowls and retreats. It's odd, especially since I know Peeta to be incapacitated, but then I see a small projectile launch into the jaguar's wound. It starts to slow, the effects of poison evident, until it lands into a heap near the other carcasses. That's when I turn to see Rue in the trees, her slingshot still in hand. She offers me a grin, but my blood runs cold once more.

I can only scream her name before the jaguar leaps towards her.

My warning gives Rue only a fraction of a second to react. She leaps towards me, my name on her lips. Her speed is the only thing that saves her from the jaguar's teeth, but she isn't quick enough to escape the claws that slash into her chest. My knife flies into the jaguar's eye before Rue hits the ground with a sickening thud. Nearby, I hear the vines rustle heavily, but Cato lets out his own shout that tells me the rustling is to get to another Career. The scream that I hear confirms my suspicion.

When I turn back to Rue, I know the cuts are too deep for me to do anything and yet, still I try. I've gathered several leaves and vines with the intent of staunching the blood flow when Rue places her hand on mine. She only offers me a small quirk of the lips, a harsh breath leaving her body.

"It's okay, Lucy," she says. Her eyes are glossy. The color begins to drain from her face. "It's my time."

"No," I mumble, moving to try to stop the bleeding again. A sob escapes. This is a twelve-year-old accepting her incoming death. "No, it can't be. It shouldn't be."

"You can do this," she diverts. A cannon fires, but it isn't hers, not yet. "I know you can find a way to."

As gently as I can, I shift her so that her head is cradled in my shoulder. I'm not completely sure what she means by find a way to, but I disregard it. My throat seizes up, so I choke, "I will. I promise. For you."

She fingers at the grass chain around her neck before attempting to take it off. I try to stop her, but when she insists, I ever so gently slide it off. When she tells me to take it, I can't help but let the tears flow freely. Gamemakers be darned, if this is part of her dying wish, nothing will stop me honoring it. Breathing starts to become harder for her. "Will you tell a story?"

The request alone nearly brings the tears to fall. It's so pure, so evident of her youth, that it's hard not to. A story? I don't know many. But for Rue, I make one up on the spot.

"There once was a young girl that lived in a valley. She loved many things, but her absolute favorite was music. Every day, she sang for any and no reason at all. She sang for her siblings, for the people of her village, and for her mother. But the best audience she sang for was the birds that lived in the orchard by her home. One day, she decided to try to sing for them from the highest tree so that they all could hear her. So, she woke up early one morning and ran as fast as she could to the orchard to find the right one. When she did, she climbed and climbed and continued climbing until she reached the very top branch. And do you know what she saw there?"

Rue's breathing has slowed immensely, but she shakes her head. Her muscles start to go limp. I force myself to continue, but I know Rue's getting close. "She saw the sun making its way over the horizon, painting the sky the most beautiful colors. People were starting their days at home, and the birds were stretching their wings in their nests. That's when she opened her mouth and sang, and those birds stopped everything to listen to her song. When she stopped, a young mockingjay flew up to her branch and repeated her music. With its lead, the entire flock picked up the song. From that day on, she went back to the orchard every morning, and every morning the birds would stop and listen to her sing. And every morning, as soon as she was done, they would sing her song right back to her. Soon enough, even the sun itself seemed entranced by their music. In those moments, the young girl was the happiest, because she was free."

Poppy crashes through the vines right as I feel Rue give her last breath. She joins my side as her cannon fires. I hold my strength long enough to place a kiss onto her forehead, and Poppy latches onto Rue's other hand. Then we lose all composure.

We can't afford to stay in the open for long, but I allow us time to grieve. Yet, when I know we need to move, I can't leave Rue here. So, I turn to Poppy and say, "I want to do something."

I pause long enough to properly assess Peeta before hiding him in a nearby tree cove. Based off of the familiarity I feel, it's the same one I spent the first night in. He's somewhat aware, but definitely conscious, which I know to be a good thing. "Peeta," I murmur. His eyes meet mine blearily. "Stay here. I'll be back for you soon, okay?" Even in his state, he knows something is wrong, but he can't make his body cooperate. Because the jaguars made their complete retreat when Rue was struck, I know he will be safe so long as he stays put. I lay the tarp over the entrance before meeting up again with Poppy.

My idea will have to be quick, as the Gamemakers will want to collect the bodies soon. We are at the disadvantage of not knowing the parts of Eleven that would make it genuine, but we try our best. We move Rue to an opening in the clearing where the sun can reach her face. Poppy tells me that in Eight, a covering is usually made from the clothing that the deceased wore in life, but she compromises by cutting off a bit of Rue's pants, small slivers from both of our shirts, and weaves a cloth big enough to cover Rue's chest. That way, the wound can't be seen by the audience. In Twelve, we light torches, candles, fireplaces, anything to keep the memory of the person alive a little longer, so I set to lighting fire to a thick branch. When it catches, I shove it into the ground a few feet away to burn for as long as possible. It's not much. I wish we could do more. Yet, this is the closest to a proper burial that we can give Rue. To honor her in the only way that we can.

Poppy and I are quiet as we trek back towards where I left Peeta. My steps are slow, dragging, mostly because I'm in far too emotional of a state. The jungle finally starts to come back to life. I hadn't even noticed the silence. My feet slow to a stop.

"I can't do that again."

She immediately understands what I'm getting at. We both just lost Rue, and I cannot lose Poppy. I also can't let it get down to us two. I muster the courage to glance up to her. Her eyes are red, face blotchy, but she gives a small nod. With this, I know she feels the same. Losing Rue has ruined us. She gathers me into a hug before heading east, back towards where the Cornucopia was. As she disappears in the foliage, I whisper, "Thank you, Poppy. Stay safe."

And then I remember Peeta.

Something prevents me from sending Peeta away like I did with Poppy. Maybe it's the tie to home and obligation, the sponsors and our image, or even guilt that drives me back to him. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that it's none of the above. I simply need the comforting presence only he can provide. It's selfish, unbelievably so, but I don't have the willpower to turn him away. I make the trek back to the cove in the tree before I can talk myself out of it.

Peeta hasn't moved from where I left him. In the short span he's drowsed off, and it's pure paranoia that brings me to nudge him awake. I put on a strong face for Peeta, but even I can't make myself believe it. I have to get him out of the area. The bleeding on his head has stopped, but he's still in no condition to walk a long distance. The cave where Rue, Poppy, and I stayed is off the table; the Gamemakers wouldn't let us return if I tried. I'm beginning to think of trying to find shelter on my own first when Peeta grabs my attention. "I know... a place. Stayed there the night before I met up with Cato. They don't know it."

With Peeta's directions, we eventually slope downwards and come to a fallen tree far from where the Careers last set up camp. It's perfect timing too, because Peeta has become almost impossible to lead. His injury has caused a new sensitivity to light, which means he is now clumsy to the point of tripping frequently. He tries to make it better by joking, which I'm grateful for, but I'm too jittery to pay it much mind. I may not know a lot about concussions, but I know they are nothing to toy with. The fact that Peeta is able to walk and talk at all is extremely comforting.

The base of the trunk that Peeta's led us to is on elevated ground, and when I peer underneath, I find the tree is concealing a small den that's just big enough for the two of us. Moss and parts of the canopy above already conceal most of the entrance, but with a little more handiwork, I know I can make us completely unseen. Peeta tells me there is a fork of the river further down the slope, and I hear the rush of water in the near distance. In the meantime, I ease Peeta down onto the ground long enough to lay plenty of the jungle canopy down on the den floor.

Peeta is semi-conscious when I turn back to him. Dragging him becomes a lot easier since I only have to manage a few steps, and Peeta blinks wearily up at me when I'm done. Blood from his head has dried on his eyebrow and lid. His hair sticks to it when I try to brush it away. "Hi," I mumble, smiling weakly. "Thanks to you, we've got a good hideout."

"I think I deserve a reward, then," he quips. It draws a small laugh from me, which Peeta grins at. He tries to hide his wince when he rubs at his head, but I notice immediately.

"Here, let me take a look at it," I say, and Peeta allows me to thumb away some of the crusting blood. I keep my hands gentle as I drip some water from a flask onto the area, but he doesn't complain. Instead, he chooses to watch me. Warmth blooms in my chest, and it's a welcome distraction from the thoughts currently plaguing my mind. I move to his forearm, which reopened in the fight. I'm forced to improvise by using moss as a bandage, but it luckily doesn't look horrible. The look in his eyes when I finish nearly breaks me down, but I ignore the urge to kiss his forehead that's currently in the forefront of my mind. Peeta needs stability at the moment, not something potentially jostling like that. I settle for cupping his cheek with my good hand. He nestles into my palm, turning to place a delicate kiss of his own into it. It's surprising how easily he falls into it, especially after the night on the rooftop and whatever reason drove him to ally with the Careers.

The warmth in my chest spreads. Rather than think about it, I cough and ask, "How are you feeling?"

"On top of the world," he replies. As if to prove it, he tries to prop himself up, but immediately sways. "See? Peachy keen."

If I wasn't sure before, I'm now positive that Peeta has a concussion. It's good that the hit didn't knock him out, or else Peeta would be in dangerous territory. As is, when I ask him if he remembers how hard he hit his head, his brows furrow and he tells me he doesn't recall. I tell myself that it's normal and make a note to check on it every few hours, but for the moment, I convince him to lie down and get rest. He agrees so long that I promise to remain nearby. As he falls asleep, however, I sneak out to further disguise our new hideout, fully intent on finding the river for myself.

It doesn't take long to completely shield the entrance. Once I'm satisfied with the result, I head towards the noise of the river. The journey isn't long, but it does just barely put the den out of sight. I'm confident in the spot's obscurity, that the chance of someone finding us is slim to none, but I'll be quick regardless.

Despite being filled with exotic noises and life, the arena feels empty now that I have nothing to distract me. Flashes of Rue root in my immediate thoughts, and the pain of her death makes a reappearance. When I look down to see a smear of red on the back of my right hand, another white-hot panic seizes my entire body. Suddenly, it's as if everything is too much, I have to get it off, get it off of me. I plunge my hands into the water, barely able to breathe and scrubbing until my hands are raw. A small part acknowledges that my own blood as well as Peeta's is also on my hand, but that one smudge stays locked in focus. The sting of my left palm is what draws me out. My hands are definitely clear of any blood, but I've reawakened the cuts from my sword. Like clockwork, I tell myself to wrap it up with moss and a vine.

There's another sting, duller and on my hip. Another flash, this time of claws on my own body. Right, I did get hit, didn't I? I force myself into the motions, but the motivation simply isn't there anymore. It takes most of my remaining energy just to convince myself to tie the moss to my side. I know I have to get back to Peeta, that I've been gone too long, but it's like I'm weighed down with guilt. I'm so lost in my own mind that I almost miss the gentle splash of the sponsor gift landing in the water nearby.

Based off of the last twenty-four hours alone, I am instantly on guard. I whirl around wildly, but I am weaponless, each remaining knife and my sword in the den with Peeta. If this is a form of cruel irony, I'm no better than a sitting duck. I'm honestly surprised that sponsor gifts are even allowed after our stunt. Surely they are absolutely furious. Could this be a trap?

Opening the gift doesn't lead to my instant death, but instead to individual items sealed by plastic. So this is how the Gamemakers will make sure we know our gifts are safe from foul play. Credit where it's due, it's a quick solution to a potentially lethal loophole. They can't be happy about having to do it though. The image of a disgruntled Gamemaker individually wrapping each and every gift from this point on is a funny one, however.

The chuckle dies in my throat once I pick away the plastic, however. Inside this container are four apples. I can only assume they are from Eleven, unless an entirely different group of people loved Rue so much that they decided to send this. What must it have cost them? Did they sacrifice apples from their own orchards to send this to me? If so, it's a debt I cannot repay. Yet, perhaps this is their own way of repaying a debt to me for Rue.

Even worse is the thought that they sent me food for giving Rue the respect in death that she deserved. What kind of world requires this to be a luxury? Bile forms in the base of my throat, angry tears pooling for Rue and every dead tribute before her, but I force it back. Instead, I lift my head to acknowledge my gift. "I cannot thank you enough, Eleven. I know the birds adore her song." Feeling minutely lighter, I start back towards Peeta.

He's still asleep when I return, and I spare a few moments to sit on my heels and observe him. He has a certain youthful look when he sleeps, like he's completely unaware of the world around him; that his dreams still manage to be somewhat pleasant. The farther along in the Games we get, I know that will change and yet, I can't let it. Back on that rooftop, he swore he wanted to still be him when he died. I'll do him one better. If he dies, and I will try my best to see that he doesn't, it won't be the same way Rue did. It won't be for a show. I feel the same fire that I did before meeting Poppy rekindle. From this moment, I know I will protect Peeta at all costs. The Capitol may need their show, but they won't get one at Peeta's expense. Or at mine. From this moment, I will do as little as possible to stoke the flames. If we die, it will be on our terms, not theirs. And I will do anything to make sure it stays that way.