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❝ARE WE THE HUNTERS, OR ARE WE THE PREYS❞
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THE NEWS SINKS IN and my breath catches in my throat. I'm too shocked to formulate a coherent thought at first. It's as if a new silence emerges through the arena, every tribute starstruck at this unexpected rule change.
The purpose of it stays unknown, which angers me entirely. Throughout the entire saga of the hunger games, a single victor had always been the expected ending. What led them to change their mind?
I think of the remaining survivors. Cato and Clove is the only pair whose alliance could possibly be appreciated, protected by the Game makers, or the Capitol.
The Careers were always somehow privileged, put on a pedestal. Yet, when he saved me, the absence of his district partner didn't seem to worry him at all. Otherwise, there was still Tresh and Foxface, but I doubt that they would be the cause for the intervention.
I think back at Haymitch's message. You're doing great. Was there an underlying meaning at this simple phrase? Could this smoothly mention the ephemeral alliance that had occurred between Cato and I?
It was a long shot, but also one of the most logical conclusions. Moreover, my mentor had been the first one to introduce the entire concept of star-crossed lovers, though it was originally meant for Peeta and I.
The only reason that then came to mind was that some watchers must have been rooting for our dynamic, leading to the possibility of there being two victors. If that's the case, I should find the boy from District 2, and soon. Before Clove or anyone else could reach him.
I grab my things, take a last sip of my water and get ready to exit the stream, a place considerable popular amongst tributes. My boots sink into the mud at my feet, and I had underestimated the transe of fatigue that my body was stuck in, dancing around constant straining and effort.
Before I can stop myself, I call out Cato's name.
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I know I probably shouldn't look for the boy, unaware of his opinion on the situation. Yet, I was still blindly following my instinct, that was trying to lead me to him.
I run towards his previous location, the cave. Even though our last encounter was days ago, I remember the path we went through before saying goodbye. The amount of time I spent in the woods back home allow me to have a sense of orientation and navigate through the similar trunks of wood.
The constant repetition of the swirl of green and brown from the forest calm me, as does the sweet smell of wood that remind me so much of hunting, Gale at my side. During all of this, I barely had time to even ponder about how he must be feeling.
