His Majesty's Kingdom

 how —- it  even  happened was still a  BLUR  to her. why her leg?  why not   SHOOT to  kill? after all, this was   the hunger games.   ella lets out a pant, blue hues look up to the dark sky. it’s been   HOURS. did the shooter want her to suffer? blinking rapidly, she can see his figure. as if she weighed  NOTHING   she’s in his arms. she was so mad at him. for killing. for leaving. ‘ — save yourself. ’ it comes out as a soft whisper.

initially, he is quite UNCERTAIN if the words are spoken in his OWN conscious. could henry truly be so callous, so CRUEL to she whom he loved ABOVE all else? perhaps, as his grip does LESSEN, though only for the briefest of instances. then, he is holding her TIGHTER to his chest, DISGUST festering in his chest that he would ever stoop to imagining life WITHOUT ella. ‘ don’t speak of such things, sweetheart. now keep your eyes steadfast... ‘ for people were still HUNTING them. ‘ and i shall carry you to shelter. ‘ 

             it’s a fruitless, FOOLISH endeavor when he steps away from her, on a HUNT for anything that can help her. but here is the truth. the ugly, SHAMEFUL truth. he doesn’t want to watch her die. he knows, although he won’t admit it to himself, that there is nothing in the wilderness that can alleviate her pain. he’s not a GOOD man. but he does return to her, collecting her lithe figure in his arms and assessing the wound that seems to be WORSE. ‘ we’ must get to get you to shelter, love. they’ll be coming soon. ‘