第104章

  peeta asks.
  “because thresh would have never gone down without a
  fight. he’s so strong, i mean, he was. and they were in his ter-
  ritory,” i say.
  “good,” says peeta. “the more wounded cato is the better. i
  wonder how foxface is making out.”
  “oh, she’s fine,” i say peevishly. i’m still angry she thought
  of hiding in the cornucopia and i didn’t. “probably be easier to
  catch cato than her.”
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  “maybe they’ll catch each other and we can just go home,”
  says peeta. “but we better be extra careful about the watches.
  i dozed off a few times.”
  “me, too,” i admit. “but not tonight.”
  we finish our food in silence and then peeta offers to take
  the first watch. i burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him,
  pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. i
  just need a few moments of privacy where i can let any emo-
  tion cross my face without being seen. under the hood, i si-
  lently say good-bye to thresh and thank him for my life. i
  promise to remember him and, if i can, do something to help
  his family and rue’s, if i win. then i escape into sleep, com-
  forted by a full belly and the steady warmth of peeta beside
  me.
  when peeta wakes me later, the first thing i register is the
  smell of goat cheese. he’s holding out half a roll spread with
  the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. “don’t be
  mad,” he says. “i had to eat again. here’s your half.”
  “oh, good,” i say, immediately taking a huge bite. the
  strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind prim makes, the
  apples are sweet and crunchy. “mm.”
  “we make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he
  says.
  “bet that’s expensive,” i say.
  “too expensive for my family to eat. unless it’s gone very
  stale. of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says
  peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. in less than a
  minute, he’s snoring.
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  huh. i always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life.
  and it’s true, peeta has always had enough to eat. but
  there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on
  stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. one
  thing about us, since i bring our food home on a daily basis,
  most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn’t going to
  make a run for it.
  somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually
  but all at once. the downpour ends and there’s only the resi-
  dual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now
  overflowing stream below us. a full, beautiful moon emerges,
  and even without the glasses i can see outside. i can’t decide if
  the moon is real or merely a projection of the gamemakers. i
  know it was full shortly before i left home. gale and i watched
  it rise as we hunted into the late hours.
  how long have i been gone? i’m guessing it’s been about
  two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of prepara-
  tion in the capitol. maybe the moon has completed its cycle.
  for some reason, i badly want it to be my moon, the same one
  i see from the woods around district 12. that would give me
  something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where
  the authenticity of everything is to be doubted.
  four of us left.
  for the first time, i allow myself to truly think about the
  possibility that i might make it home. to fame. to wealth. to
  my own house in the victor’s village. my mother and prim
  would live there with me. no more fear of hunger. a new kind
  of freedom. but then . . . what?