Peeta's Story- The Hunger Games

Chapter 38

The first thing I register within my conscious mind is the howling. It is loud and high-pitched, a wail that surrounds me and haunts me, making me shiver. It reminds me of all things sinister. Then I feel the biting cold nipping at my cheeks and I curl up in a ball, trying to protect myself. I feel disoriented, lost, and helpless until a particularly large gust of wind douses my mind awake and I finally begin to take in my surroundings.

The howling is a mere result of the strong wind blowing, bringing in the cold. As if by instinct, I reach for the extra jacket on the floor before realizing that my efforts are futile- it is not there. However, when I bring my hand up, I become aware of the liquid sticking to it, bright red and glistening in the dwindling flames. I sit straight up, looking for the source of the blood, when my eyes hand on a figure slumped over in the ground.

A pool of blood surrounds her head like a halo, her dark braid dipping haphazardly into the dripping red liquid. I gasp as the events of last night hit me- Katniss, the feast, the sleeping syrup. She must have gone to the feast to get the medicine that would help me. "Katniss?" I ask quietly, praying for a response. When she doesn't answer, my cries become more and more desperate, "Katniss? Katniss? Are you okay?"

By this time, I have ripped my jacket off, trying my best to ignore the stabbing coldness. I take her carefully and place her head delicately on the jacket, face up and my heart breaks at the sight of her face, covered in blood. She doesn't stir, and I cry out, the pain in my heart threatening to overwhelm me. She can't have died, she can't have left me. Stupid, stubborn girl. She shouldn't have wasted her life for mine. Without her, my life would be meaningless, a cold-hearted torture.

My fingers fumble over her neck, stiff and frozen. I can't feel anything because of the numbness and I rub my hands together in agitation until I feel the blood flowing. Tenderly, I touch her neck, praying for a pulse. Sure enough, there it is. Her artery throbs weakly, barely noticeable, but there nevertheless. I know I need to help her as quickly as possible. Who knows how long she's been out?

I hardly know what to do, though, and I try to remember everything we learned back in grade school about treating injuries. First, the bandage. I rip open the backpack and take out the gauze she used to bandage my leg, but there's not enough. In frustration, I dump the entire contents of it on the ground, my eyes landing on a spare, white t-shirt. It will have to do for now, until I can find something better.

I take her head in mine tenderly, ignoring the sharp pain in my arm as I move it jerkily. I'll have to see to that later. After ripping a sleeve off the shirt, I soak it in water, tenderly wiping away the blood from her face. I gasp as I see the source of her injury- a gash that spans her forehead, starting from her left temple. It looks jagged, as if a claw or fingernails carved it out rather than a knife and I close my eyes angrily, mad at Katniss for risking her life. I clean out the wound, removing all the dirt from it until it's just a dark red streak surrounded by pulsating, purple skin. She seems to have broken some blood vessels underneath the skin, but I don't know how to tend to that so I wrap her forehead in a layer of gauze before it runs out. Sighing, I cut the shirt into strips and wrap it protectively around the wound until the blood no longer seeps through the makeshift bandage.

I sigh, looking down upon her sadly. This is all I can do for now. I squeeze her hand, which is limp and cold. "Stay with me, Katniss," I murmur. A tear slips onto my face and I wipe it away quickly, standing up and dusting myself off.

The fire is a mere pile of glowing embers now, and I set about tending it, not wanting Katniss to be cold. The wind batters against my skin still, but I've grown so accustomed to the cold I barely recognize it. I take the remains of the t-shirt and lump them together, creating a pillow for Katniss to lay on. Then I take my jacket and slip it on her, gingerly, scared of hurting her. Her body is still cold and lifeless, and I rub her hands in between mine, hoping to warm her up.