The Conspiracy

Chapter XXVIII: Mutts

Running. Can't breathe. Can't think. No pain. Trees and grass and fall. Up again. Flee. Heart. Clove. Mutts.

They're chasing me, none too silently either. I can hear their breath, smell it even as, once again, I tear through trees, sword in one hand, spear in the other. Terror. Part of me is glad she isn't here for this, but another part of me misses her, knows she'd have a better solution than flight, and another part guesses that if she were still here we wouldn't be in this part of the arena, wouldn't be in this mess. If I had been there to stop 22, to kill him before... Stop. Survive, Cato. Get yourself out. It's what she wanted. It's why she told you to go.

Left her. Guilt. Heart. Clove. Mutts.

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