第88章

  have you taken a look at yourself lately?”
  “i thought cato and clove might have found you. they like
  to hunt at night,” he says, still serious.
  “clove? which one is that?” i ask.
  “the girl from district two. she’s still alive, right?” he says.
  “yes, there’s just them and us and thresh and foxface,” i
  say. “that’s what i nicknamed the girl from five. how do you
  feel?”
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  “better than yesterday. this is an enormous improvement
  over the mud,” he says. “clean clothes and medicine and a
  sleeping bag . . . and you.”
  oh, right, the whole romance thing. i reach out to touch his
  cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. i
  remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and i
  wonder where peeta picked it up. surely not from his father
  and the witch.
  “no more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” i say.
  we get him propped up against the wall and he obediently
  swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush i feed him. he re-
  fuses the groosling again, though.
  “you didn’t sleep,” peeta says.
  “i’m all right,” i say. but the truth is, i’m exhausted.
  “sleep now. i’ll keep watch. i’ll wake you if anything hap-
  pens,” he says. i hesitate. “katniss, you can’t stay up forever.”
  he’s got a point there. i’ll have to sleep eventually. and
  probably better to do it now when he seems relatively alert
  and we have daylight on our side. “all right,” i say. “but just
  for a few hours. then you wake me.”
  it’s too warm for the sleeping bag now. i smooth it out on
  the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in
  case i have to shoot at a moment’s notice. peeta sits beside
  me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before
  him, his eyes trained on the world outside. “go to sleep,” he
  says softly. his hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off
  my forehead. unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this
  gesture seems natural and comforting. i don’t want him to
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  stop and he doesn’t. he’s still stroking my hair when i fall as-
  leep.
  too long. i sleep too long. i know from the moment i open
  my eyes that we’re into the afternoon. peeta’s right beside me,
  his position unchanged. i sit up, feeling somehow defensive
  but better rested than i’ve been in days.
  “peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of
  hours,” i say.
  “for what? nothing’s going on here,” he says. “besides i like
  watching you sleep. you don’t scowl. improves your looks a
  lot.”
  this, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin.
  that’s when i notice how dry his lips are. i test his cheek. hot
  as a coal stove. he claims he’s been drinking, but the contain-
  ers still feel full to me. i give him more fever pills and stand
  over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of wa-
  ter. then i tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings,
  which are showing improvement. i steel myself and unwrap
  the leg.
  my heart drops into my stomach. it’s worse, much worse.
  there’s no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has in-
  creased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. then i see the red
  streaks starting to crawl up his leg. blood poisoning. un-
  checked, it will kill him for sure. my chewed-up leaves and
  ointment won’t make a dent in it. we’ll need strong anti-
  infection drugs from the capitol. i can’t imagine the cost of
  such potent medicine. if haymitch pooled every donation
  from every sponsor, would he have enough?