Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 21 - The Feast

In the remaining hours before nightfall, I gather rocks and do my best to camouflage the opening of the cave. Using every ounce of strength in my one available arm, I carefully place each stone; they're rough and jagged, cutting into my skin as I manuever them into place. After a lot of sweating and shifting things around, I'm pretty satisfied with what I've done. The entrance now appears as nothing more than a natural pile of rocks, blending in perfectly with its surroundings. I can still crawl in and out of the cave through a small opening, but to any passing eyes it's undetectable. I tell myself this is good; if I don't make it back from the feast, Peeta will at least have a chance to hide without being completely trapped. Although, I doubt he'll make it much longer without any medicine.

With the last of my energy, I trudge back to the stream, my stomach grumbling from hunger. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the water. I take my time carefully spearing a few small fish and gathering some edible plants before I finally settle down by the water's edge. I fill each container with water, purifying it before I clean my trident. I make the decision to leave Marvel's knife with Peeta. Though he's well hidden, I want him to have some sort of protection while I'm away.

I'm fairly certain that Cato, Clove, and Thresh will be at the feast. But what about Finch? She's been absent this entire time, making it hard for me to predict her actions. Is she even armed? I shouldn't underestimate her; though she's smaller than I am, she's clever. I doubt she would hurt me, but the other three are not ones to show mercy. I've been decent in close combat, but going into the thick of things scares me a little. The risks are high, but I have no choice if I want to save Peeta.

As the sun sets, I look up at the sky. My eyes scan for any sign of opponents, but there is only emptiness and silence. Tomorrow, I know that the sky will be filled with at least one more face. The feasts almost always result in death.

I make my way back through the narrow opening and settle into the sleeping bag next to Peeta. I remember being angry at Peeta for letting me sleep longer, but now I am grateful for the extra rest. I doubt anyone is going to attack the cave, but I can't risk missing dawn. As the night progresses, an icy chill seeps into the air, biting at my skin with sharp teeth. It feels as though the Gamemakers sent in a frigid wind across the arena, which might be exatly what they've done. But Peeta's feverish warmth comforts me and calms my shivering body for the most part.

My thoughts keep drifting back to District 4. I wonder if they'll be able to sleep tonight. Wren and Bea probably won't even have school tomorrow with such a significant event like the feast taking place. They can either watch the Games on the TV at my dad's shop or join the crowds in the square to watch on the big, clear screens. They'll probably be with my father, he's always liked them. Besides, I asked Bea to look after him and I'm sure Wren will, too. 

Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon's soft glow start its journey across the sky. Judging by its position, I'm guessing it's about three hours before dawn. I begin my final preparations for the feast. I'm careful to leave Peeta with the essentials: a knife, a water bottle, and some berries. After debating for a moment, I strip him of his jacket and drape it over my tattered one. He won't need it right now. Not with his fever and the sleeping bag. With Marvel's bag packed with food and water, I grab my trident and I'm about to set off when I remember the importance of maintaining our star-crossed lover image. I press a long, lingering kiss to his forehead; I imagine the people of the Capitol swooning and crying over our supposed undying love. But for me, it is a bittersweet farewell to my ally and friend, not knowing whether or not I will return.

I move with stealth and speed, my steps barely making a sound as I make my way through the forest. I dare not take any alternate paths, instead retracing my steps up the stream and following the path I know. As I make my way, I notice not a single trace of another tribute— no broken branches or disturbed leaves, no puff of breath. It's either just me in the forest, or the other tributes camped out last night. With still an hour or two until dawn breaks, I carefully wiggle myself into a nearby bush and hunker down to wait out the darkness.