People in my district say that there are only three true places you can be- the awake, the dead, and the dreamland. The nervier kind claim that these are the only places in Panem that would have a name, especially since the only reminder that there are other districts are the distances, chain-link fences, and Peacekeepers with loaded guns.

As far as I know, if I were anywhere, I wouldn't be surprised if I were dead.

But if I am dead, why do I feel a knob of what feels like wood poking into my back? Why such heat? And surely I'm not dead if my head feels like it's been tossed in my family's cooking pot to stew.

Alive means able to get up and look around. Right?

As soon as that decision's made, I find that it is likely one I may regret later. Sitting up proves difficult, but there's more than just sore muscles to face. My head tries to pin me to the branch with an arrow of pain, but I somehow manage to stay upright. A groan escapes my lips, one dry and parched, hinting a strange amount of resignation. At least I know that a blow to the head is likely not all in store when it comes to injuries I'll probably get later.

"Well, look who's awake," calls a voice nearby. I spring to my feet, my body screaming in protest. My head whips around frantically, but all I get in return is a laugh. "Hey, Cass, relax. Just me."

I spot Eli up above me, hanging by his legs from a branch. He swings down to my level, and after I get over the spinning of my head and let out a laugh of relief, I slug him hard in the shoulder. He tenses up just a tad, and I remember the gash on his arm. "Sorry," I say, wincing a little bit myself.

Eli laughs. "I'm not that horrible, am I?"

I shake my head, and become only slightly more serious. "No. But seriously. Don't do that again."

Eli grins, a drop of sunlight among a field of twisting thorns. "Sit down, okay? I doubt you're supposed to be up this soon after yesterday." I almost refuse, but I can't deny the light-headedness that seems given with head injuries in the first place. So I sit cross-legged on the branch, while Eli digs out our packs from inside the trunk of our tree.

"Here's breakfast." A strip of beef, a swig of water. A blessing on the food and an unsaid addition of thanks to the fact that we're still here. Then the talking.

Eli first updates me on the dead, and I listen in silence, too afraid to hear what my mind might predict. Inside, there's still some part of me that finds death unlikely; young death, especially; one part still tender enough to believe that saving a life means a debt to repay.

If only.

The girl from One. The boy from Two. The girl from Three. Both from Four. The boy from Five. Both from Six. Both from Eight.

Eli's only giving me the update, but Cedar's teachings have trained my mind to remember. So just by instinct, the names scroll in my head like clouds in a turbulent sky.

Amethyst. Ahab. Lydia. Natanyel. Rio. Taurus. Virgil. Letha. Isaac. Calla. All dead.

Names will never change the way they died.

My only relief comes from the fact that my death-rescue of Maggie payed off. And she's got Shale at her side, too, as far as I know. As far as I can hope without being completely, terribly wrong, anyway.

"Eli, you have anything else on the tributes?" I say, trying to take my mind off the dead and focus on anything besides.

He sits there a moment, thinking, and then states whatever he can make sense of from his photographic memory. "The boy from Three ran for the woods when the timer ticked down. . . So did the girl from Five . . . the boy from Two shot the one from Ten in the leg with your bow. . . the girl from Eight stayed on her pedestal. . . "

He pauses for a moment, and then continues remembering, but with a grimmer importance. "The boy from Nine stabbed the girl from Four with her own spear. . . The girl from Ten killed Four's district partner. . . The two from Eleven headed for the boulders after bashing this girl's head into the horn. . . the one from Nine. . .the girl from One stabbed the boy from Eight after fighting him for his dagger, then she came after you. . ."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing if I want to avoid talking about death."

"Okay. . . now what?" I say, fingering a loose piece of bark from our redwood. It resists my touch, but eventually gives in and falls away. My eyes follow it as it flutters to the branch. I blink and then it's gone.

"Inventory check? I've only looked over the stuff four times already."

"Sure, why not."

We dig out my pack first, the one that's a mottled green and brown that was probably meant to mimic foliage. I look inside and pull items out, one by one.

A bag of dried fruit. A pocketknife. A box of matches. That throwing star I'd stuffed into the pack seconds before I'd watched Lydia die. A spile. A canteen as big as my quiver and just as dry.

"Well, we've got something to get water with, at least," Eli says, pulling his pack by the handle from its perch beside him. He shakes his own canteen, the water sloshing back and forth underneath the surface. "This too. Should last us a little while."

I unzip his pack, the zipper hot due to its dark color. I dig through the materials and stack them, grinning at the items. There's a flashlight, so we won't be without light. A small loaf of bread. His beef strips. A ball of string. Three fish-hooks. Some flint. A familiar-looking iron rod that's the length of my arm.

"Right. . . We've got food, and water," I list, a finger flicking out for every area of supply that we have. Eli nods, confirming what I say. "And we've got light," I say, waving my listing hand to the flashlight and matches. "And. . . I guess you could count the matches as fuel?"

Eli pauses before nodding again. A fourth finger flicks out.

"And methods of getting food. And water." The string and an imaginary stick turn into a possible fishing rod. Then snares. The spile sits on top of the backpack, ready to embed itself in a tree.

A nod. My listing continues on my right hand.

"And means of defending ourselves," Eli continues, pointing to the bow slung over my chest and the axe at my side.

A second finger appears from behind my knuckle; the seventh in total.

"And. . . there's still the question of what the rod is for."

Eli gently takes it from me, gripping it with both hands. He stands and stabs the air, blocks an imaginary opponent. A smile goes up on both our faces at the exact same time.

"Self-defense?"

"Of course. I don't know why I didn't figure that out sooner," I say.

"Well, we've never seen one of these made with iron before."

"True."

Eli holds one end away from him as his fingers reach for it and press a formerly unnoticed panel on the side. A blade, thick near the rod and slender at the end, flicks out of the side.

Used in our district for cutting branches off of trees. Used in the Hunger Games for cutting limbs off of people. A useful tool, if I do say so myself.

The blade, silver and immaculately clean, glints a dull green as the sunlight hits it. It's only for that split second, but I definitely do see it. The leaves shift over us with breeze, and I breathe in the scent of sunlight, and vegetation. I notice a strange, ever-so-subtle undertone of rust, and shiver.

I hope that Eli and I won't be here long. But now that I think of it, I don't know who I think deserves to win. Definitely not Cornelius. But enough damage has been inflicted that I think that it should all end.

It should all end with me.

The thought hits me with the intensity of an ancient redwood being brought down to the forest floor. Even the imagery of the roar of roots tearing through soil and air, the rumble and crack of branches snapping to pieces, and the explosion of reality as the tree splits on the ground are all there too. All there because all of this thought process is the same way; the crash of a new reality translated into a startling idea, one that in only a moment of pure insanity could have possibly even existed.

If I don't want one choice person to die, then I can't win.

Obviously.

I did know this- I've been blocking this thought out ever since the Reaping- but the full intensity of the thought just planted itself in front of me. All of this trip has been spent with coming up for a plan to keep me alive.

I glance at Eli, watching him organizing our stuff back into the packs. Do I really want him to die? My own brother? All in favor of me staying alive? Of course, I know the answers to these, but it still doesn't excuse my selfishness in the past few days.

"Hey, Cass, do you want these in here?" Eli says without looking up from his pack. He's holding up my matches, their plain wooden box visible from within a raised brown hand.

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

My interview. My response to Caesar's question.

Cassia, you seem keen on claiming the victory of this Hunger Games. Who or what is going to drive you to win this year?

If worst comes to worst, I would win for him. And I think he would for me.

That's it.

"Cass, what are you thinking about?"

I'm aware of Eli's eyes on me, settling on my face. I turn away ever so slightly, suddenly not wanting him to be able to read me so freely.

"I'm fine."

"Really?" Eli gives me this look of concern. If it were from anyone else but him, I would have brushed the person off, but this is Eli. Eli, who has only ever wanted to take care of me. Who has ever only wanted the best for me.

I feel a sudden pang of sadness. He isn't ready to give me up yet.

"I think it's just my head," I say, glad that it isn't technically a lie. My head's been spinning, as he likely suspects; but not with pain.

"All right," Eli says, sounding resigned. I sit back down on the branch, leaning against the trunk for balance. I'm going to need it if I'm going to do what I now intend to do.

I lean my head back, trying to swallow the deep ache spread throughout my brain. I breathe in and out of my nose, just glad for breath. The breath I will have until whatever end I meet catches up with me.

I feel Eli's eyes on me still, and feel his worry. Gosh, I wish I could just spit out what's on my mind. The worst part is that I can't. Not this time. Especially since he would just stop me.

I force the most authentic smile I possibly can. One that I pray fiercely that Eli will not be able to see through. "I think I'm fine now."

"You should probably get some rest," he says, suddenly putting on a convincing mask of relief. It forms a split second too quickly, and it's the only way I know we're both pretending that we're not already completely miserable in this place. For him, though, it's because of how I'm feeling. He, for one, can't hide brotherly concern very well.

"Right. I should do that," I say, trying not to scream in frustration. The feelings present in me come and go so fast, I wonder if I'm having mood swings, just like Cedar. I climb into the redwood's trunk and curl into a ball against the firm steadiness of the wood. I breathe in its scent, trying desperately to find myself home again, to convince myself that this is all a cruel nightmare.

Don't lose it. Don't start having a panic attack. Stop. Stop. STOP.

"Holler if you need something," I hear Eli call from somewhere in the tree. "I'm gonna take watch."

More silence, and then, "I'm taking watch tonight, too."

"That's fine," I say to myself, knowing Eli isn't really expecting an answer. Or for that fact, backing down from his decision. I shed my jacket, balling it up and putting it under my head. My blouse clings to my torso with sweat, and I pull the bunched cloth down over my thighs.

I lay there, quietly assessing my options in my head, aware of the countless scenarios that could play out. My eyes keep closed over the flow of thoughts that could come spilling out, in the form of curses and emotions and fear. While I haven't spotted any cameras yet, it was always useful to understand how many the Gamemakers could fit into a sly-looking space. How many in an arena, no less.

That would be a lot of cameras.

I shudder, and then still, remembering my train of thought. Slowly, I calm my breathing from normal to quiet, and then slowly deepen it. Maybe it would be best to pretend I'm asleep. Then they'll never catch me alone with my thoughts.

When I actually enter the darkness of my mind, however, I realize my mistake.

-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -

Hi!

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please comment your reactions and suggestions alike (I really could use some feedback ;). And vote ;). The votes are my preciouses XD.

Finally- have a great day, because YOU NEED ONE. 

Seriously, though. Have a great day, because a great day is a gift ;). I love you guys.