"Cato!"

He'd almost had the red haired girl, the one from five when Clove's screams ripped through the forest air and buried themselves in his head , a cacophony of echoes reverberating around his skull. He forgot all about the ginger crawling across the forest floor away from him, trying to recuperate her only just twisted ankle, an injury that would have led to her demise. But Clove's screams have given her another chance, some more time. Cato just whirls around and runs full pelt back the way he came, not even caring that the girl he was about to disembowel could turn the tables on him now that his back is turned. She doesn't though, she hasn't yet managed to lay claim to a single weapon in this arena. She just watches him disappear into the shrubbery, thanking her lucky stars.

"Clove!" he screams as he runs, letting her know he's coming, that whatever trouble she's in he'll be there soon to fix it, finish it. He can feel his heart thundering against his ribs, feel the beads of nervous sweat trickling down his face. He's got to get back to her, he's got to keep running.

"Cato!" this scream is even more hysterical than the last, and as he hears it he knows that she's in serious trouble, that he's too far away, and this only makes him panic more. Move faster damn it legs move faster he inwardly screams at himself, trying to will his legs to go just that little bit faster, get him too her in time.

Then he feels it, a feeling of utter dread that creeps up from his stomach and lodges itself in his chest. Something has gone wrong, horribly wrong, and he's still not close enough to fix it. He tries to call her name out again but it catches in his throat, comes out as a hoarse whisper. He feels his legs actually begin to pick up the speed he so wanted before. adrenaline. He thinks. Always seems to kick in too late.

He can see the cornucopia now, see the hulking figure that is thresh leaving the scene unscathed with two bags in one hand, a rock in the other. The girl on fire taking off in the opposite direction, blood still oozing down her forehead. A crumpled figure curled around itself at the opening of the cornucopia. "Clove!" he shouts. He doesn't care that he sounds like a frightened little boy when he says it, because he knows the figure is her, because suddenly being perceived as weak by the other tributes, by the capitol, it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is getting to Clove, and her being ok.

He doesn't know how he gets to her side, the journey from the edge of the clearing to the cornucopia is lost on him. He kneels down, sword still in hand and turns her to face him, sees the dent the rock's impact has made on her pretty little face. Her eyes are wide, struggling to focus, but she recognizes him, and he thinks he even sees the shadow of a smile play at the corner of her lips.

"You stay with me butcherbird, you hear me? You stay here with me!" he sobs at her, dropping the sword and cradling her body in his arms. It shocks him how fragile she feels, like a rag doll that would fall into a heap if it wasn't for his arms holding her together. "Not today Clove. Not today. You're going to win remember? We both are. We are going home together. You and me."

She just keeps staring up at him, putting all her energy in keeping her eyes trained on his. Tears trickle free from her eyelids onto her cheeks, creating little pools around the freckles he so adored. He watches as her mouth contorts into a grimace, struggles to get the words out she needs to say.

"Kill them Cato."

It doesn't sound aggressive the way she says it, doesn't sound evil. The words are laced with fear and disappointment, with agony, appeal. He leans down and kisses her on the forehead, feels his chest constrict as she makes a little sobbing mewl when his lips make contact with the unscathed portion of her skull. He then positions his face just above hers, holding her tiny body close, trying to block out the ragged sound her breathing now makes.

He knows now that there is no way back from this. He knows that Clove, his butcherbird, is going to die. That all the begging and pleading in the world is absolutely futile.

"I love you Clove." He says, aware that he's sobbing. "Always." It's the truth. He always has. The girl with the knives drove one into his heart a long time ago. He can't help but wish he'd told her sooner, that he hadn't waited until it was too late.

She smiles, trains her eyes hard on his and places one feeble shaking hand over his heart. Even though she's past the point of being able to utter the sentence aloud, these actions alone tell him exactly what she wants to say. That it's the same for her, that she loves him too. Then the light slowly drains out of her eyes, her hand falls limp onto her own chest, and the canon fires.

He becomes aware of this awful noise, like an animal screeching as its being torn apart by some kind of predator. It takes him perhaps another two or three minutes to realize that the sound is him, that he's screaming, crying, wretching all at once. Brutal bloody Cato has well and truly been broken by the dark eyed girl with the freckles on her cheeks and the knives, Just like she always promised him in training. He'd always laughed at that, thought it a ridiculous impossible notion. Who's laughing now Cato? Her voice asks inside his ears, in the deepest recesses of his mind, and he can't help but crumble himself down into the dead girl's shoulder and hope that the awful pained noises he makes are muffled by her hair.

When he finally pulls his face back up, into the now glaring sunlight, he can see the hovercraft approaching in the distance. He brushes his hand over her eyelids, shielding himself from her empty stare, Takes one final look at her face, so peaceful in death even with the violence that brought it upon her. gives her one final kiss on the cheek, before finally letting her go. He sits himself down a few metres away from her body, wraps his knees in his arms. Watches the hovercraft take her away from him for all eternity.

When it finally disappears completely from his sight, that's when he sees something glittering in the grass at his feet, catching the suns rays and making the grass around it shine. It's her favourite knife, small with the cruellest of curves. She'd told him she'd liked it because it was like her, small, twisted, malicious. He picks it up, stares at it for a moment. And then her voice is back, whispering from the wind into his ears.

Kill them Cato.

He stands up, slips the knife into his pocket. The pain is still there, boiling away in his chest but it's being mixed with another emotion, one he is too familiar with, one he almost finds soothing. Rage. He'll do exactly as she asked, kill them all. He remembers the hulking dark figure sprinting across the field, rock in hand, makes the connection between this object and the dent in Clove's temple. His face hardens, eyes no doubt darken.

Thresh will be the first to die.