第94章

  he talked about us running away to-
  gether. was that just a practical calculation of our chances of
  survival away from the district? or something more?
  i wonder what he makes of all this kissing.
  through a crack in the rocks, i watch the moon cross the
  sky. at what i judge to be about three hours before dawn, i
  begin final preparations. i鈥檓 careful to leave peeta with water
  and the medical kit right beside him. nothing else will be of
  much use if i don鈥檛 return, and even these would only prolong
  his life a short time. after some debate, i strip him of his jacket
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  and zip it on over my own. he doesn鈥檛 need it. not now in the
  sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if i鈥檓 not there
  to remove it, he鈥檒l be roasting in it. my hands are already stiff
  from cold, so i take rue鈥檚 spare pair of socks, cut holes for my
  fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. it helps anyway. i fill
  her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages,
  tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. i鈥檓 about to
  leave when i remember the importance of sustaining the star-
  crossed lover routine and i lean over and give peeta a long,
  lingering kiss. i imagine the teary sighs emanating from the
  capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. then i
  squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.
  my breath makes small white clouds as it hits the air. it鈥檚 as
  cold as a november night at home. one where i鈥檝e slipped into
  the woods, lantern in hand, to join gale at some prearranged
  place where we鈥檒l sit bundled together, sipping herb tea from
  metal flasks wrapped in quilting, hoping game will pass our
  way as the morning comes on. oh, gale, i think. if only you had
  my back now . . .
  i move as fast as i dare. the glasses are quite remarkable,
  but i still sorely miss having the use of my left ear. i don鈥檛
  know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep
  and irreparable. never mind. if i get home, i鈥檒l be so stinking
  rich, i鈥檒l be able to pay someone to do my hearing.
  the woods always look different at night. even with the
  glasses, everything has an unfamiliar slant to it. as if the day-
  time trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent
  slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their
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  places. i don鈥檛 try anything tricky, like taking a new route. i
  make my way back up the stream and follow the same path
  back to rue鈥檚 hiding place near the lake. along the way, i see
  no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of
  a branch. either i鈥檓 the first to arrive or the others positioned
  themselves last night. there鈥檚 still more than an hour, maybe
  two, when i wriggle into the underbrush and wait for the
  blood to begin to flow.
  i chew a few mint leaves, my stomach isn鈥檛 up for much
  more. thank goodness, i have peeta鈥檚 jacket as well as my
  own. if not, i鈥檇 be forced to move around to stay warm. the
  sky turns a misty morning gray and still there鈥檚 no sign of the
  other tributes. it鈥檚 not surprising really. everyone has distin-
  guished themselves either by strength or deadliness or cun-
  ning. do they suppose, i wonder, that i have peeta with me? i
  doubt foxface and thresh even know he was wounded. all the
  better if they think he鈥檚 covering me when i go in for the
  backpack.
  but where is it? the arena has lightened enough for me to
  remove my glasses. i can hear the morning birds singing. isn鈥檛
  it time?