FRANCESCA WAS running through the forest towards their designated camping spot, her feet stumbling under herself as August dragged her along. Tears streamed down her face, and she was sobbing loudly; she didn't even consider the Capitol cameras streaming her live reaction to the two deaths of her friends happening just seconds apart.

"Cherry!" August shouted again, his voice wobbling slightly, before their running pace slowed to a walk. Through her cries, Frankie heard the distant voices of two girls growing louder as they approached.

Another voice, Dorothy's, called out, "You're never gonna guess what we saw!"

"Auggie!" Cherry exclaimed, jogging towards them with a panicked expression on her face. She had arrived first, glancing between August and Frankie; Cherry didn't hesitate to hug the boy tightly. She whispered, "Oh, my God. What happened?"

Dorothy had arrived now, too. She was more cautious and hesitant to the scene, almost as if she didn't want to believe the impossible had actually happened. Dottie frowned in confusion, though she already knew the answers, "What's going on?" She stared at Francesca, who was sobbing uncontrollably, "Frankie?"

"Hey, hey, hey." Cherry comforted, pulling away from August and stepping closer to Frankie. She wrapped her arms around the girl tightly, her chin slotting perfectly into the crease of Francesca's shoulder. She pulled away, cupping Frankie's face with her soft hands, "You're hyperventilating, Francesca, you need to focus on breathing slowly. In and out— copy me, Fran."

Frankie continued to cry, her words almost inaudible, "He's— he's dead! Cherry, they're both dead. I lost them both— I lost them both tonight!"

"Oh, sweetie," Cherry's expression saddened, as she supported Frankie's fall to her knees. She hugged her tightly, stroking her blonde hair and comforting her; Dorothy and August watched tearfully, unable to speak a word. Cherry continued, "It's okay. It's gonna be okay, Fran."

***

It had taken Francesca hours to stop crying, and soon the sadness she felt turned into numbness. She couldn't believe that Kipper was gone; living wasn't the same without his stupid jokes and wonky smile. She had only been friends with him for almost a week, though it felt like she had known him a lifetime. His presence was gone, leaving the group silent. There were only four of them left— four survivors, four children.

They sat around a campfire, which August had created silently. Nico, Fletcher, Dara were dead and Francesca hoped that she was next. There was no winning the Hunger Games, only loss and grief and pain. And Francesca couldn't live through that endless pain; she wasn't as strong as Finnick.

Eventually, Cherry had stopped humming and grabbed her bag from the damp floor. She cleared her throat; her voice was so gentle and quiet, "I picked up some Yarrow. There was nothing much else."

Francesca didn't feel like talking, though she couldn't help but feel grateful when she saw the soft look on Cherry's face. And, in that moment, Frankie noticed tear stains on her cheeks. Francesca nodded, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse, "Thanks, Cherry."

"We could've gone to the swamp and helped." Dorothy shook her head, almost fighting internal battles with her thoughts, "You needed our help."

August muttered, "It happened to fast."

"Dorothy," Francesca spoke up, despite her aching throat, "You said something before... about what you had seen. What was it?"

Dorothy glanced at Cherry, the campfire in front of them highlighting the concerned expression on their faces. Dorothy replied dryly, "Oh, uh, just another Capitol Mutt."

August asked, "What animal?"

"It wasn't no animal, Auggie." Cherry shook her head gently, "It was, like, a statue. Solid stone." She looked at Dorothy, almost as if the two girls were keeping a secret. 

"A statue?" Frankie questioned, "Of what?"

Dorothy paused, "A person..." She glanced down at the flames below her, "Fletcher."

Fletcher? Frankie sat up straighter, sharing a look with August, "What?"

"It was him." Dorothy said quietly, swallowing a lump in her throat, "He had this horrible expression on his face, like he was screaming. And, I swear to fucking God— something wasn't right."

"It must be a scare tactic." August suggested, "Why else would they place statues in here with us?"

"Because they're fucking sick." Dorothy seethed with boiling anger, "They think they can just put us in here! Like— like fucking animals. Well, you know, what? They're the animals. Fucking monsters, all of them."

"August has a point." Frankie agreed, "If the statues resemble a person we've lost, it's probably to weaken us. Make us vulnerable."

August sighed, "The Game-makers have probably made a statue for each one of us."

"And that's not even the worst part." Dorothy blurted out again, hesitant this time, "I— it sounds stupid, but... I could, kind of, hear Fletch."

Francesca frowned in concern, "Like, a memory?"

"No, like, he was telling me things." Dorothy shook her head, her eyes fixated on the fire as she explained, "Shitty things. Like, I don't know... saying how his— it was all my fault."

Francesca glanced at Cherry in concern. Cherry nodded slowly, "I couldn't hear it, though."

August cocked an eyebrow, "So... it's, like, targeted to the specific Tribute?"

"Maybe." Dorothy snapped out of her trance, looking at the three surrounding her, "Anyway, it was fucking strange. Cherry had to drag me away from it."

Frankie questioned in disbelief, "You believed what Fletch— the statue was saying?"

"It's pretty hard not to." Dorothy shrugged helplessly, "Whatever the purpose of those statues are, are not fucking good— I'm telling you."

And, suddenly, an unfamiliar beeping sound echoed from within the trees, growing louder sounding closer with every second that past. The four sat up, alert and wide awake; Frankie's hand grabbed for her trident out of the pure instinct that was created from this arena. The beeping grew louder, and it wasn't long before a small noise thudded from beside them. The beeping stopped, leaving the four in a confused silence; Frankie stood up first, slowly walking towards a metal device that had landed on the floor a few steps beside the group.

It was a metal tub, small and cylinder, with a black parachute tied to it. The side of the container had a small light, flashing red to bring attention to the package in the dark. Francesca lowered her weapon, remembering when she watched Finnick's games that he got sent lots of these little gifts in metal tubs— sponsors.

Quickly, Francesca picked up the device and carried it over to the group. She sat back down on a wooden log, before wasting no time to open the device. Inside, resting on top, was a square white note; letters were written with familiar handwriting, reading...

Strong heart.
—N

N. Frankie's mind was reminded of Nick, her brother. This sponsor was a purposeful prompt of Finnick's support through his sister's experience. He was always there, always watching, always trying to get Frankie sponsors and help.

Strong heart— Finnick had reassured her that Frankie didn't need to be physically strong, but strong in ways where other's lacked. Compassion, resilience, and care were often lost in the arena overtime; Tributes became more reckless and desperate to survive, though some Tributes also gave up and accepted their impending death. Even if Francesca was weaker than other Tributes, like the Careers, she had a much stronger attitude that boosted her confidence, chance of survival, and mindset.

Francesca tucked the square piece of card into the pocket of her jacket, before unscrewing the lid of the capsule. A warm smell of food filled her nostrils, and Frankie's eyes met with a whole tub of... hot soup.

Dorothy sat up quickly, as the smell hit her nose, "Is that soup?"

"Yeah," Frankie gave a small smile, "From my brother." She glanced up at the three sat around her, "This isn't for me, it's for us. I mean, there's only one spoon but we can share."

"Are you sure?" Cherry questioned gratefully, "That's so kind."

"We can pass it around. Have equal spoonfuls." Frankie nodded, gesturing to the empty spaces on the wooden log she was sat on; the three moved to sit next to her. August to her right, Cherry to her left, and Dorothy next to Cherry.

They all sat in silence for a moment, and Francesca felt like she couldn't eat and just move on from the chaos of today. And, it was clear that the other's felt incomplete too...

"To Nico..." August cleared his throat, "And that young girl he was with."

"Dara." Frankie nodded.

"To Fletch." Dorothy's voice wobbled slightly, as she shook her head, "He fucking loved vegetable soup."

Cherry placed a hand on Frankie's arm, adding softly, "And, to Kipper." Francesca's eyes watered with tears, but they weren't sad tears like before; she was almost grateful that she could commemorate his memory with her friends. They were all affected by grief, but they were surviving together; Francesca hated to think of what the next few days would have in store.

The soup was warm and fresh, and with each sip Frankie was refreshed with a comforting taste that soothed her throat. They were all starving, though they took turns to have a spoonful each, before passing it along the line once more.

Kipper's death, and Francesca's reaction, must've resulted in sympathy sponsors. Poor, little Frankie— the girl hated their pity, since the Capitol were the reason for this situation happening; they didn't have a right to be sad, or to sympathise with Frankie, because they had no idea what it felt like. Their idiotic brains wouldn't be able to handle a single hour in the arena, and the sponsor seemed to fill Frankie with more hatred.

"Guys," Dorothy announced, "I hate myself for saying this, but this Capitol shit is the best soup I've ever tasted."

Frankie chuckled, "I second that. What ingredients did they put in it?"

"Something fancy-sounding." August mused, "100%."

Dorothy spoke in an accent that was high-pitched and posh, targeting the people of the Capitol, "Like, a sprinkle of glittery-fucking-garlic."
And the joke wasn't entirely that funny, though the group bursted into fits of quiet giggles, adding onto the joke. Frankie hadn't laughed in ages. She really missed Kipper. However, when Cherry was holding onto the warm capsule of soup, August let out a sudden hiss of pain which made everybody fall silent. The boy rolled off the end of the log in an instant, clutching his shin tightly and groaning in an abrupt pain.

"Ah!" August gritted his jaw tightly to quieten his pain, "Fucking— shit!"

Frankie, being the closest to him, was the first to react and reach for him. She crouched down, holding his shoulder tightly in confusion, "What is it? August, what's wrong?"

"My leg!" The boy groaned deeply, clutching onto his limb tightly, "Something—"

"Is that a— fucking hell!" Dorothy stood up quickly, her eyes fixated on the damp floor. She grabbed her axe from beside her, before quickly throwing it into the direction of the floor a few steps in front of her. The axe landed on the floor with a loud thud; Cherry stood up, placing the soup down on the log, and rushing towards her bag.

"Just breathe." Frankie said, gripping onto August's squirming body tightly, "Let me see your leg. Let me— What is that?" She looked at the small wound on August's shin; two small holes that pierced his tanned skin.

"A fucking snake!" Dorothy scoffed in disbelief, holding an axe in her left hand, and half of the snake's body in another. She waved it around angrily, her eyes darting towards the sky, "Good fucking idea, guys! Snakes. How about we send snakes into your fucking mansions!"

"Dottie." Cherry glanced up at her, "Don't provoke them."

"They can't hurt me," Dorothy shrugged, dropping the dead snake on the ground, "I have nothing left to lose."

"Just— Uh, stay still." Frankie was panicking more now, as August became more uncontrollable to hold down. She looked at Cherry, who was kneeling beside her, "Cherry knows what to do. Right, Cherry?"

"Right," The girl agreed, before turning to the wooden log beside her to use as a table. She retrieved a few of the plants she had collected— Yarrow— and placed it on the log. She poured a few drops of water onto the pile of green before using the force of the bottle to crush it into a paste. Cherry instructed, while she did so, "Dottie, help Frankie hold him down. Okay, I'm going to place this poultice on the—"

"Poultice?" Frankie questioned, "What's that?"

"A paste to apply to the wound," Cherry nodded knowingly, "I need something to wrap his wound with."

Dorothy knelt down beside them, ripping off the sleeve of her t-shirt, "Here. Use this."

"Thank you," Cherry replied, and it confused Frankie to see the girl so calm in a panicked situation. Francesca watched Cherry as she knowingly placed the green paste on the wound and continued to wrap his leg in a cloth to secure it; she was impressed to say the least. Cherry added, "Yarrow helps to stop any bleeding or infection to the wound. I figured it could help for a snake bite— was that a mutt?"

Frankie nodded, "It must've been."

Dorothy asked in concern, looking at the boy laying on the floor; his cries of pain had silenced, and he was no longer moving, "Hey, is he supposed to be this quiet?"

"I assume so," Cherry nodded, "I mean, I watched my Pa use Yarrow poultice for a little girl who fell over and cut her knee. I think the poultice is cold, so relieves the pain a little."

Dorothy glanced at Frankie in confusion and it was clear that the girl didn't understand the smart words that Cherry had used to explain. Dorothy prompted, "So, he's not dead?"

"No," Cherry shook her head simply, "He just needs rest, and his wound needs times to heal."

Frankie's eyebrows furrowed, "That was, strangely, easy."

a/n:
dottie being a mini johanna mason I LOVE HER SM