A/N: Life happens, but like I keep saying, I won't abandon this story. No matter how much time passes between updates, I promise, I haven't forgotten. Thank you guys so much for continuing to stick with me. I really appreciate it, and I love reading your reviews!

Calm down, I tell myself fiercely. Calm. Down.

On the outside I'm absolutely motionless, but my heart is racing. Instinct screams at me to run, hide, do anything but what I'm doing, which is nothing. I fight it down, and stay still.

The sound of the cannon echoes in the early morning; it's mostly still dark, but streaks of pale rose are beginning to steal across the sky, and wisps of lavender clouds drift overhead. Silence falls, and I am left listening.

But that's all it is now. Silence.

I strain my ears. If the death had occurred anywhere near me, I would be able to hear something, wouldn't I? Another tribute's footsteps, or the Career pack celebrating… but I hear nothing.

Only when I am certain I'm not in danger do I let myself sink back against the tree and breathe out slowly. Now that the immediate threat has passed, I become aware of the aching hunger pains in my stomach, of the headache and dry throat induced by dehydration. I'm sorely tempted to take out my dried fruit and eat it. But I dig my fingernails into my palms to wake myself up, to remind myself I can't. I've got to save the food for when I really need it, not just when I want it.

Locating a water source has to be my first priority. I pull the relatively clean edges of my sleeves over my dirty hands and use the fabric to wipe the sleep from my eyes. I've survived the first night. Okay. Day two.

I check the thin cuts on my forearm (scabbed over), check that my supplies are still in the drawstring bag on my belt (they are), and check that nothing is around to hurt me (doesn't look like it). Then I stand up and redo my ponytail, tying it high so that it's off my neck. I don't care if my hair is bright red and out in the open. Even if I'll be operating in the shade, there's no point in trying to disguise myself if I'm going to be on the move in what's basically broad daylight. Better not to hinder myself trying to maintain my disguises. I brush the dirt off of my skin as well as I can.

Then I start walking.

It's a slow process; I'm still trying to conserve my energy due to both bodily weakness and the fact that I'll need to run if I encounter anyone. I pick my way through the forest, careful not to make any sound if I can help it.

Wait! There's a noise in the bushes!

Everything in me roars to life and I react reflexively; before I know it I'm already about twelve feet away. I glance back quickly to locate my pursuer—and immediately screech to a stop.

It's a rabbit.

And it's not even pursuing me. It just twitches its nose, dashes across the place where I just was, and disappears into an opposing bit of shrubbery.

If I had any energy to spare, I would smack myself in the face.

I glance at the shrubbery the rabbit vanished under. I hadn't noticed before—it's thick with berries. I start toward the food immediately, but stop myself. No matter how my stomach growls, I don't recognize the little yellow things, and I can't trust them. It is with great difficulty that I turn away and keep moving.

A few hours later, I am all but dragging myself onward. I'm not out of commission, not yet, but I'm hungry, thirsty and tired, and all I want to do is fall asleep. Somehow I keep going, thinking of potential sponsors judging me, thinking of my family crying. I have to show them I'm all right. And I have to show Panem I'm worth believing in.

Instinct tugs at me again, nothing big like this morning, just this little pull in my gut saying stop. Saying wait, listen. So even though my senses have dulled from exhaustion, I lift my head and I do.

At the very edge of my hearing, I catch the most beautiful sound I have ever heard—the sound of running water.

It takes such pure restraint not to sprint for it, to find the water wherever it is and plunge myself headlong into it. Instead I tread carefully, quietly, listening for the sound, moving through the trees toward its source.

And that's how I find the river.

I want to run to it, but running is noisy and could attract danger. So to show that even here on the riverbank my self-control has limitless reserves, to show that even in the throes of extreme thirst I know what I'm doing, I walk the last few downhill steps excruciatingly slowly.

It's a good thing I do, because the instant I reach the water intending to gulp as much of it down as I can, a silver parachute comes floating down to me. It lands right next to me and for a couple seconds I stare at it, bug-eyed.

I have sponsors?

It's only the second day, and I have sponsors.

My face breaks into a real smile, which I quickly turn into one of those sly grins, and I raise my eyes to the sky to express my gratitude. I notice the dirt caked under my short fingernails as I open the container. I can't help getting excited. What could be inside? Food? Advice?

I pull up the lid, and my smile fades slightly.

Not food. Not advice. It's a little bottle of brown liquid.

I'm confused for a second or two until I remember something someone said in training, and in a flash I realize what this is.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice cracking and raw.

Iodine.

…

This is what hell is.

Hell is walking miles you can't count, hungry and tired and above all thirsty, but having to go at a snail's pace for your own safety. Then hell is finally finding water, but having to walk even more slowly toward it even though it's right there waiting for you. Hell is having to use your drawstring bag and a cupped hand to contain as much water as you can; hell is having to bite your lip and cover your face with your arm to keep your mouth away from the water in your palm. Hell is waiting half an hour for the damn stuff to purify. And hell is waiting longer and longer and longer.

Oh, but heaven.

Heaven is drinking as much of that water as you can hold.

…

A bottle would make things easier, but all things considered, I'm perfectly happy. Hunting may be out of the question because I can't make a fire, but there's plenty of greenery around the river, and I'm sure I can remember enough about gathering from training to get myself some food. Besides, for now I've downed enough water to fool my stomach into thinking it's full. I squeeze out my sopping-wet drawstring bag as much as possible, put my dried fruit and my knife back into it, and secure it all at my belt.

Hmm. Maybe it's because I'm no longer physically miserable, but here on the riverbank in the afternoon sun, I'm actually starting to feel safe.

Lying down on my stomach, I crawl under some thick bushes to conceal myself. Rubbing dirt on my skin and pulling my hood over my red hair, I close my eyes. It isn't nighttime yet, but I'll take whatever rest I can get. As always, I keep an ear out for potential predators, an action that is already becoming automatic.

I sleep.

After what seems like no time at all the Capitol anthem startles me awake, and I open my eyes. The arena is dark now. Parting the shrubbery above me with my hands, I manage to catch the seal, shining through a large gap in the treetops.

It takes me a second to remember that there was only one cannon today. There will be only one face in the sky. When that face appears, I let out a breath I don't remember holding.

It's Kiara, the ditzy girl from District 8.

Quietly replacing the leaves of the bush, I fold my hands on my stomach and try to list the remaining tributes in my head. Boy and girl from 1. Boy and girl from 2. Girl from 4… boy from 3? Boy and girl from 11. Boy and girl from 12.

Boy from 10…

I cover my face with my hands, glad that for a moment the cameras can't see me. I am surprised to find that said hands come away shaking.

Aiden is alive.

And for some reason it still feels like a victory.

…

The next day of the Games is by far the best I have had. When I wake, I feel remarkably rested, and the light shining through the leaves of my hiding place is the warm gold of midday. By some miracle, no one has found me. By some miracle, I'm breathing.

Before emerging from the shrubbery, I perform my ritual of listening very intently, and hear nothing. I crawl out from under the bush. Approaching the river, I splash some of the rushing water on my face, not bothering to purify it but careful not to let any of it get into my eyes or mouth.

Today, I decide that I love the river. I love that it is loud enough to cover the little noises I make, and I love that its water sustains life, and I love that I can walk in it to cover my tracks without getting swept away.

I walk in that river for a long time, stopping to rest and drink purified water when necessary—ultimately, my new first priority is finding food. But the only edible, accessible things I come across are berries. There are dark purple berries, and blood-red berries, and those annoying little yellow berries I saw before. I trust none of them.

As night settles in, my allegedly vast reserves of willpower hit a wall when I end up devouring my dried fruit. I try to tell myself to ration it, but the second the first bite of fruit meets my desperate stomach, I discover I've inhaled the rest of it too. I stare down at the empty packet, and then I let my head knock back against the solid trunk of the tree I'm sitting against.

For a moment I hate myself intensely, and then I let out a long sigh and resolve that I will, I will find more food tomorrow. Tomorrow I will venture further out from the river, never straying too far, but going just far enough that hopefully there will be more out there to gather than just three different kinds of questionable berries. Then not only will I have my riverbank shelter and my riverbank water, but I'll also have a food source and very little to worry about.

I can do this.

As I rub dirt into my skin, pull up my hood, and curl up to sleep underneath another cluster of thick shrubbery, I have the strangest feeling of… comfort? Capability? I don't know. Whatever it is, it's wonderful. It even helps me sleep sort of peacefully, since there were no deaths today.

I can really do this.

At least, that's what I believe—until I jolt awake in the middle of the night, surrounded on all sides by searing, blistering heat.

The bushes are burning; everything is on fire.

Including me.