one— the first number in what seems like just a million

"More than a million," she whispers. "There are always more numbers ahead." Rue stares at the dark ceiling, thinking about tomorrow.

"Rue, I can't even fathom more than a million. It feels like just a million," Seeder replies in her laughing voice. "How can anything human go on forever? It's not possible." Seeder sat across the room, looking at the little girl who was currently half-asleep.

"But that's the thing," Rue murmurs."Numbers aren't human. They're bigger than us. A lot of things are bigger than us." She tilts her head toward Seeder, whose eyebrows are raised inquisitively. "Love is bigger than us. Numbers are. Life is, Seeder. Life is a trillion times more advanced then we are."

"Mm-hmm. They're so complex that we don't know how to stabilize lives, but we know how to end them." Seeder puts her head in her hands. "The Capitol is going to end yours, my little Rueful. I wish I could do something about it."

Rue turns her head towards Seeder. A tear forms in the woman's eye. "I'm okay with it. If we can't stabilize life, I don't want life." Rue isn't simple. Seeder wishes she was more simple. "Besides, if I live, I have to mentor. I have to watch twenty-three children die each year. Seeder. It's better this way."

It's better this way? wonders Seeder, who stares wistfully at Rue. How is death better than life?

Rue begins to count back from ten; the calming strategy her mother had taught her years ago. The truth was, Rue isn't ready. It wasn't better that way.

"Just count backwards, darling, while I wish I could anesthetize you through the Games." Count back, count back. Anesthetize. Repeat.

two— the number of times you're going to get betrayed before you see the colors

"Seeder, I can't see."

"It's okay, just calm down."

"No, you don't get it. I only see bright flashes." Rue could only see bright colors, plastered against her eyes. "Nothing has shape." She was right. She only saw the colors blurring, not making shapes. She wasn't blind. She could see colors (nothing but colors, in fact). There was nothing wrong with her vision at all, in fact.

"Things will make shape if you want them to, darling," Seeder said in a soothing voice. "If you really want the flashes to go away, they will." That couldn't possibly be true. Rue tried counting backwards from fifty. Colors were still dancing. She willed with all her heart to see again.

"But Seeder, I have to go the arena today. I need to see. I have to." Rue's exasperation made her voice crack. She sat down on what seemed to be a suede sofa. "But I'm not afraid to go in the arena. Even with these colors burnt into my eyes, I can still run like the wind and hear footsteps on the ground. I'm not afraid." And then, slowly but surely, the colors darkened. The world became that of sights and value, not one of colored stings and brightness. It's better this way.

three— the number of things to check off your list before you die

Cato's eyes were trained on a long, menacing sword just past the brim of the gleaming cornucopia. The count in his head was steady. He knew it was eight. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven. Rue stood on his left, positioned steadily towards the dense woods. He could catch her and kill her. He was surely faster, stronger. He could strangle her frail neck with one hand, or break her ankle and bash her head in with a rock.

Rue's dark eyes gazed upon the green-and-brown forest. Those were her colors, the colors of the apple leaves in the fall, the colors of the long branches she would climb to pick the peaches. She couldn't keep a count. She was too afraid of losing her spot. Cato was on her right, only four yards away. The sun was stinging, but not as harsh as it had been in Eleven, not fire-like or unbearable. Cato's blue eyes glanced her way for a moment, perhaps pondering which weakling he would kill first. The cripple was a weakling. Rue was not a weakling. She was fast and smart and resourceful.

The gong came with an earsplitting shout; a yelling that echoed throughout the arena. Rue shot off her plate, stepping lightly through the familiar tall grasses. She was headed only one place: her woods. They were no one else's. Those woods were as familiar as the feel of her own straw-stuffed bed. She hadn't seen them before but yet she knew them, knew the way the leaves hid the easiest branches, the way the grainy bark made the best handholds.

Cato left his pedestal as soon as he counted one. He kept the prayer in his head, the prayer that his count was right. It was. Everything he did lately seemed to be right, from the jokes he cracked in his interview to the accuracy of the spear he threw in training. He hit the ground running through the tall, unfamiliar grass. The grass was high and prickling, not short and lush as it had been in Two. He stumbled vaguely through it until he tripped forward on the brim of the cornucopia. His head hit a pack of knives, cutting girtwo shallow gashes across his forehead. Warm blood trickled down his cheeks. His hand wrapped around the metal hilt of his sword. He lifted it up and raised it above his head triumphantly. He heard blades clash just behind him and quickly returned to his reality.

Rue had snatched a small leather bag on her way to the woods. As soon as she hit the highest branch of a broad-leafed maple tree, she opened the pack. Berries, crackers, one spear head, and a pair of socks. It was nearly nightfall. There was no going back, no supplies left littered in the grass. There was no one to help her, no orchards to lie in and steal fruit from. This wasn't as much like home as she'd thought.

Cato was stalking through the woods on his own when he heard the loud breaths of a tribute. The bloodbath was over, the corpses lifted from their deathbeds. The breaths weren't from north, south, east, or west. They were from above. Rustle. The leaves shifted abruptly, not from wind. A dark figure leapt from branch to branch. It wasn't a perching bird, it was too large, and perching birds didn't shatter the silent air like that. A branch cracked. It was Exa tribute. Another branch cracked above, this time sent tumbling towards the ground. It landed on a leafbed and rolled off. The dark figure lingered. Cato squinted in the dim light. It was the little girl, the one who stole his knife in the training center. The figure leapt again, gliding through the air like a flame leaping from roof to roof.

Except this time, she didn't catch the branch with both hands. The silhouette of her frail body dangled from the broad branch. Her hand latched onto the bark, but she couldn't hold on with only one hand. She, with the branch, came tumbling out of the tree.

Cato could have let her fall and break her neck on the dirt. Cato could have broken her fall with his (already bloodied) sword. He didn't. He dropped his sword behind him and put his arms out, reaching for the figure. She fell into his beckoning arms only an instant later, her breaths quick and terrified. Cato steadied her before dropping her onto the cold ground.

"Oh god," the girl whispered. The moon was risen. Cato could see her face clearly, highlighted by the moon. It was Rue, the girl who had gotten a seven in training. The little climber, of course. "I- oh god." Rue was on her feet before she could check if her ankle had broken. She couldn't run. Cato had a death grip on her thin arm. She shivered, swallowing her tears with her courage.

Cato was frozen, his hand clutched around Rue's arm. His eyes darted from right to left. "I saved your life."

"I kn-know," Rue managed to stammer. "Thank you." Cato nodded, but didn't release. His sword was back in his firm palm, ready to slice his capture into little bits of foolish, naive thief. Something stopped him. He didn't raise his sword but instead dropped it on the ground. He shoved Rue into the dirt.

"So is your life just black and white, right or wrong, or do you have a brain? You stole my knife back in training." Rue crawled back on her hands hurriedly. Cato pushed her back down with his right boot. A moment passed, Rue lying taut on the ground, close to fearful tears, Cato taut (though standing), torn between decisions.

"If you're going to kill me, I'd rather you just do it," Rue ventured in a small voice.

Cato didn't answer for three minutes and fourteen seconds, still weighing his choices. "I'm not going to kill you. I can't." He couldn't. Rue's dark, gentle eyes, her beautiful dark skin. She was beautiful, and rather sweet too. She was thoughtful, he knew that much. True, she was an idiot (she had the nerve to steal his knife), but she was thoughtful. Her dark eyes gazed up into his, gleaming brightly.

"My life isn't black and white, but I know your morals at least have shades of grey, they must." Cato looked at her, confused. "The shades of grey, the morals in between right and wrong. Your life has at least grey in between black and white. It's morally wrong if you don't."

four— the number of times you should help your lover

It was daybreak when Cato returned to the Careers' camp. The world was still dimly lit but the air was sweltering. Rue sauntered in after him. The camp was quiet, except for Clove, who lain in the grass drinking a flask of water.

Clove laughed when she saw Rue trailing behind him. "Ah, you brought my next kill back to camp? I'll get my knives!" Clove said to Cato, her voice ringing across the plain. She capped the flask and threw it into the prickly grass.

"No, Clove, you're not killing her. She's the little sister I never have." Rue beamed at this.

"You have a little sister, Cato." Cato ignored this and turned to Rue. He sighed, glancing towards Clove.

"Just help me. Help me find my way. I've never known what to do with life. Don't think I ever will," Cato said grimly, looking into the woods. They were the same woods they had been last night, same woods they had been during the bloodbath.

"The easiest way to deal with life is to live it. That's always going to be the easiest way. I learned that the easy way, really. And if you can't live it, just end it. You chose to end it, I didn't. The difference is, I'm the one who's going to die anyway. It's better this way."

Rue ran off without a second thought, through the woods. Cato watched until she was gone, until the crunching of leaves faded to a silence. Rue wasn't dead yet, just gone. She'd done virtually nothing, but at the same time she'd done everything.

Rue'd given him a grey between his black and white, given him a way through his unguided life. Rue was a lifesaver. But she was gone. Someone would kill her sooner or later. It wasn't his problem but yet it was all his fault.