At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead.The hard thing is finding the courage to do it.
Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does.
Maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks, or the moonlight, but the fog seems to be transforming. Yes, it’s becoming thicker, as if it has pressed up against a glass window and is being forced to condense. I squint harder and realize the fingers no longer protrude from it. In fact, it has stopped moving forward entirely. Like the other horrors I have witnessed in the arena, it has reached the end of its territory. Either that, or the Gamemakers have decided not to kill us just yet.
I know what for
It’s because you lost
The revolutionary wa-a-a-r