I observe the disquiet in Katniss' eyes turn to ravenous hunger, and I know exactly what she's about to do- it's what I'm desperately telling myself not to.
"We better take it slow on that stew," I warn her. "Remember the first night on the train? The rich stew made me sick and I wan't even starving then." My belly quivers at the memory, but it cannot suppress the hunger it cries out with.
"You're right," she sighs, "And I could just inhale the whole thing!"
We share a moment of regret. Knowing it's the only sensible thing to do, we eat slowly and, not a lot. One roll each, half of an apple each, one tiny serving of the lamb stew each. The sponsors were even generous enough to provide cutlery and plates. I remember Effie's foible of 'proper table manners', and grin at the thought that she may have insisted we were given the correct silverware.
Unlike my experience on the train, the stew and rice went down very agreeably, to say the least. I'd eat that again if I had the choice. And again, and again.
"I want more," says Katniss, gazing at the food.
We're both so hungry that if just one of us relents we'll consume all the food. But it would be foolhardy to do so. "Me too. Tell you what. We wait an hour; if it stays down then we get another serving."
"Agreed," says Katniss, though quite reluctantly. "It's going to be a long hour."
"Maybe not that long. What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you..."
"I don't remember that part," she says coyly.
"Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking. Scoot over, I'm freezing."
The two of us occupying the sleeping bag, I feel myself grow quite hot. I am painfully aware of Katniss' head on my shoulder, her body that my arm is wrapped around, her fragile breathing. I wonder if Katniss is feeling the same way but then she says, "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?"
Of course I noticed girls. It would be hard not to. But none of then compared to Katniss. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you."
"I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam."
"Hardly." I snort. "But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village."
It is hard to imagine living in such ornate houses after a lifetime of District 12. They are, indeed, beautiful. I wonder, if we won, would my family expect to move in the house with me?
"But then, our only neighbour will be Haymitch!" she cries. She squirms so I hold her closer, making the position a tad more comfortable.
"Ah, that'll be nice. You and me and Haymitch. Very cosy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales."
"I told you, he hates me!" Katniss says but eventually her tone dissolves into laughter.
"Only sometimes. When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," I say. Generously.
"He's never sober!"
"That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire. On the other hand, Haymitch... well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." I'm sure Katniss wouldn't just run if he tried to set her on fire...
"I thought you said I was his favourite."
I notice a tinge of surliness in her tone, so I say, "He hates me more. I don't think people in general are his sort of thing."
Although, I'm sure if he abstained from alcohol, he'd be a lot more likeable. Then again, he'd probably turn into even more of a recluse if he stopped drinking! It's anyone's guess how he won his Games. Likely that he ran off to avoid any tributes, similar to Thresh, and if he encountered any of them he'd batter them senseless. Seems Haymitch adopted that strategy for dealing with people after the Games, too.
I stare into the darkness. Our conversation was built on a lot of 'ifs'. There's no promise that we'll win the Hunger Games, let alone get a house in the Victor's Village. We're here talking about Haymitch as if we know him as well as the back of our hands, when, in reality, he's just our mentor- our mentor who we may never see again. The Games themselves seems to be separate from reality, yet we're clinging onto it with both hands. What is so good about normality that we're trying to return to it? Normality as dictated by the Capitol may as well be chaos, but its routine is something we crave. Perhaps, by speaking about things we usually would back in Twelve, we can pretend we're there- home- if only for a few fleeting minutes.
"How do you think he did it?" She suddenly speaks.
"Who? Did what?"
"Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?"
I think. Actually, I doubt he avoided the others entirely, but... he must have done something clever somehow. I can picture a young Haymitch but there's nothing that jumps out at me as to how he could have used his physical attributes to suceed. So...
"He outsmarted the others."
I feel weight lifted off my shoulder as Katniss nods. She says nothing else after that, and I'm content to sit in silence, occupying my mind with anything other than the insatiable hunger that resides in my belly.
Much later, Katniss reaches for the food again. She checks my expression, perhaps hoping for a reprimand; she receives none. I am too famished to bother myself with logic. Expressing her eagerness, Katniss immediately dishes up some of the stew, but pauses mid-scoop when the Captiol anthem begins to play.
I don't think anyone has died tonight, but that doesn't prevent me from fostering the embers of hope: Cato may have perished. I scuttle up to the rocks and press my eyes against a crack in them. When I finally align my eyes with the crack, I see it's dark out, with the rain falling in sheets- I can barely make out where the horizon meets the earth, but the projection in the sky is plain to see. Thresh is up there, far more wretched than how he appeared in life: every inch the antithesis to when he was living.
My hunger terminates at once. "There won't be anything to see tonight," Katniss murmurs, likely concentrating on serving the food without spilling a precious drop. "Nothing's happened, or we would have heard a cannon."
"Katniss," I whisper, hollowly.
"What? Should we split another roll, too?"
"Katniss." My voice fails to regain its volume.
"I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow." I break away from the crack, shocked at how unworried she is when someone could have- has- died, out in the wilderness. I stare pointedly at her, until she says, "What?"
"Thresh is dead." It sounds so simple saying it aloud. And I suppose it is: another tribute has died. That's not so strange.
"He can't be."
"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," I desperately try to recall if any crash of thunder was louder than the other.
"Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything."
Despite this supposed disbelief she shoves me to the side and peers out. She's silent and emotionless for a while, and I'm just beginning to wonder if Thresh's picture is still projected, when she suddenly slumps down, back bent to fit the natural curve of the rocks, as if she's moulded to this terrain. I watch her carefully but she's very good- she gives nothing away.
"You all right?" I try asking nonchalantly, to copy her façade, but it coaxes little but a shrug. She brings her arms closer to her body like she's forming a shield around herself. But then her defences lower, bit by bit, cracking from the inside.
Yet she still doesn't meet my gaze as she says, "It's just... if we didn't win... I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue."
"Yeah, I know." In order to stop her deteriorating any further, for her own sake as well as both of our's, I continue, as light-heartedly as I can manage, "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." I take the plate with the most stew and rice and offer it. "Eat. It's still warm."
Obligingly she takes a spoonful. It takes her a few moments to swallow, and it goes down slowly. Hopefully it's too murky in the cave for the cameras to pick up on that. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us."
My heart drops. "And he's got supplies again."
"He'll be wounded, I bet," says Katniss.
My heart twitches. "What makes you say that?" I ask.
"Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory."
The gloom conceals my smile. Suddenly I have gained more respect for this noble warrior. I would liked to have met him. "Good. The more wounded Cato is the better." With this new rule, Cato and Clove were bound to be sticking together but I don't think Clove's convenient departure will have hampered him too much. "I wonder how Foxface is making out." It wouldn't be prudent to discount Foxface from winning this thing.
"Oh, she's fine," Katniss' voice adopts annoyance. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her."
"Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," I sigh. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times."
"Me too. But not tonight."
She's right. And that's all we need to hear; the food is polished off in silence, and I think of him- of Thresh- and hope he's content, wherever he is. His passing has hit Katniss much harder. Proffering to leave her alone, with just her thoughts for company, I say, "I'll take the first watch tonight."
Gratefully, she accepts. Unfortunately, I'm also left to the mercy of my thoughts, and they're not good. Trying to distract myself, I settle down, closer to Katniss. Her body emits a steady warmth that is more comforting than any flame. I wonder if she's dreaming. Her eyelids are twitching; I'm certain I've heard that's a sign someone's walking in dreamland. It must be more pleasant than here, that's for sure. Part of me regrets taking watch.
Katniss wouldn't even be alive now if not for Thresh- when I couldn't stop her from leaving, when I couldn't save her- he could. I'm overcome by intense gratitude towards him. What would I be doing now if not for him? Probably in an agonised heap, crying for Katniss, when she'd never return. But I know she'll always come back- she's too skilled in survival- my little boomerang.
I sit in silent vigil for Thresh.
Until my rumbling stomach ends it. The food charms me; it is not long before I have left Katniss' side and make for such sweet sustenance. The bread, goat's cheese, and apple catches my eye first: back home in Twelve, we'd make a goat's cheese and apple tart. Of course, that was only if we could afford the ingredients for it. It cost a fair bit to make, so it was a disappointment if it didn't sell, but the joy at being able to eat stale tart far outweighed it. It would be made for special occasions, like birthdays. Or the Hunger Games.
The tarts were delicious, even old and hard, and I used to always save some for later. A few days' extra staleness wouldn't hurt, not if our diet had reverted back to baps and rolls way past their best before date. The bread, cheese, and apples here may not be exactly the same, but it would be a good substitute. And fresh. I'd never eaten a fresh tart in my life.
Anticipation spurring me on, I get to work, slicing a roll in half and spreading the cheese across both halves. Hastily, I chop the apple into slices, and top the concoction with them. The finished result is crude and uneven, nothing of my father's calibre, but good enough for us. I set aside the bigger half for Katniss.
It takes great willpower not to devour the makeshift tart all at once, but somehow, I manage it. I savour how the flavours of the three ingredients, so different, combine to make one delicious tang. It evokes bittersweet memories of home, memories that I try to suppress, but to no avail. So I sit there, tasting an explosion of rousing flavours, listening to the rain hammering on the cave like bullets, and watching snippets of my past that play through my mind like a video. Not all of them are as positive as I'd like them to be; then again, none of them involve Katniss. They all involve my mother.
After I've eaten, I peer outside. There's absolutely nothing to signal how much time has passed- everything is the same as when I last looked. Besides the projection of Thresh, of course. It's as if we're the only things living in the middle of a faded realm. That's what the Gamemakers have tried to emulate, by restricting our contact with the outside world to some measly silver parachutes, some projections, and some announcements, which more often than not are bad news. We have no knowledge of life outside of the arena, but they know everything about us. For a moment I feel strangely vulnerable, and all I want to do is curl up into a foetal ball and shut out the limited vision of the world that we are granted. Just for a moment, I want to be liberated from the all-knowing, all-wise, all-seeing cameras. Just for a moment. Yet I know that even if we escape this hell, we would never truly be free. If we escape.
The rain continues to pelt down. I rouse Katniss, and she pulls her hood down from over her head quickly, like she didn't place it there of her own free will. Her eyes lock on to the food I'm holding.
"Don't be mad. I had to eat again. Here's your half."
"Oh, good," and with that she takes it from me and bites into it. "Mm."
Her satisfaction pleases me. "We make a goat's cheese and apple tart at the bakery," I tell her.
"Bet that's expensive."
"Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale." I stretch out beside her. "Of course, practically everything we eat is stale." I pull the sleeping bag around me until I'm cocooned in what passes for comfort- conditions that are conducive to sleep.
I wake to Katniss shaking my shoulder. My eyelids flicker, and it takes some time for them to focus on her face, but when they do, I take advantage of the opportunity and give her a kiss. A long one. How conveniently this is working out for me.
Then Katniss pulls away. "We're wasting hunting time."
"I wouldn't call it wasting." I smile lazily and stretch as I sit up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?" I try and be helpful, since my previous hunting attempts have ended in disaster, but really I'm hoping that I'm wrong.
Fortunately Katniss says, "Not us. We stuff ourselves to give us a staying power." But you need both staying power and an edge in the Games.
"Count me in." Katniss takes charge and divides up the food between us. She seems to be very generous with her portions. In fact, when she's finished, there's no food left. "All this?"
"We'll earn it back today," she says confidently, and I see little reason to doubt her. We tuck in. It could be the last proper meal we'll have for some time. When she's nearly finished, Katniss discards her fork and runs her finger through the remains of the gravy. "I can feel Effie shuddering at me manners," she grins.
"Hey, Effie, watch this!" I hurl my fork over my shoulder and lick my plate clean, grunting in delight. I stare straight ahead in the hope that there's a camera hidden there, and blow a kiss, calling, "We miss you, Effie!" I chuckle at the thought of her reaction but Katniss covers my mouth with her hand.
"Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave," she giggles.
I remove her hand and resume laughing. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now." I pull her closer to me.
"Come on." She sounds annoyed and tries to wriggle out of my grip, but I plant another kiss on her lips.
Then we pack up our equipment, ready to leave what has effectively been our home for the past few hours. I feel an odd reluctance at having to leave it behind. Now we have to fight real enemies again, not hunger, not disease- but Cato. What little reprieve the Gamemakers granted us would never last long. Golden sunlight slips past the clouds; obscene and ironic. Today will not be sunny, that is for certain.
Katniss gives me her knife. It has been a long time since I have wielded any kind of weapon and it feels alien in my hands. Immediately I attach it to my belt. Katniss seems to feel the same, as she slots her arrows into her quiver and slings her bow over her shoulder. But she's moving slowly, too slow.
"He'll be hunting us by now. Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."
She begins to speak, "If he's wounded-"
"It won't matter," I say gravely, "if he can move, he's coming."
So we set off. Infuriatingly we don't get very far before we stop to refill our water supply. The onslaught of rain caused the river's banks to overflow, so at least it is simple to do so. I watch Katniss check the snares she set however long ago, but she returns with nothing. The foul weather must have driven them away. Perhaps the Gamemakers played some part in that, too.
"If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds."
I frown. I hate feeling helpless, worthless, while Katniss is doing all she can to keep us living. "Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do."
"Keep an eye out. Stay on the rocks as much as possible; no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. And listen for both of us."
It seems to me that she's giving very basic instructions, like she's humouring me. She must know I'm of little use to her, especially in my current state. Just walking along the rocks, as per her instructions, is draining. I still haven't fully recovered, and those two days may have rested my leg, but have made travelling physically exerting for me.
Katniss turns to check on me every so often, and feel guilty for all this self pity, with her poor little bandaged head and everything she's doing for us. She seems to be more comfortable among the trees than in the cave, despite the fact we're open to attackers. That's what comes from hailing from the Seam, I suppose. Yet another thing that separates us- but maybe the Games can bring us together.
We pass the tangle of foliage where I concealed myself for those agonising days. The rain has all but made it unrecognisable; to opponents, like Cato, there is no indication I was ever there. However, I doubt that it will prevent him from finding us for long.
Eventually the terrain changes and we're walking on a bed of some kind of plant thing, crunchy under my foot, like I'm walking on fresh snow. Then Katniss sharply turns.
"What?"
"You've got to move more quietly," she tells me. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a fifteen-kilometre radius."
I blink. "Really? Sorry, I didn't know."
So we start moving again, and I deliberately step on the balls of my feet, although it wrecks havoc on my leg.
"Can you take your boots off?" Katniss says.
"Here?" That seems dubious: the entire floor is covered with spiky bits of plant. I don't really want to risk walking barefoot. It would certainly hurt, and picking up an infection again would in no way help us. But I'm being stupid.
"Yes. I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter."
I just know she's saying that to make this less embarrassing for me, and spikes of self-annoyance hit me harder than any sharp plant material can. I remove my boots, and go to start walking again, but Katniss flashes me a look, and I'm forced to take off my socks too. Although she's trying to remain calm, I notice flickers of impatience in her eyes. I bet she never had to contend with this with Gale. No, of course not. Gale is ten times the hunter I am. He wouldn't scare off any prey due to clumsiness, even if he was injured. How ridiculous I must seem to Katniss.
We walk for hours and the two of us haven't managed to catch anything (though that's not surprising in my case). It crosses my mind that, maybe, the Gamemakers have altered the conditions so there are fewer animals about. Not that I mention this. Actually, it's more likely that I'm the reason.
I flop by the stream and take a drink but it does little to fill the hole that calls out for food. Katniss is sitting up, back against a tree trunk- her position suggests calmness but I know better than that. She's assessing our situation. Itching to hunt, she checks her arrows, adjusts her bow.
"Katniss. We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game."
"Only because your leg's hurt," she says.
"I know. So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful."
"Not if Cato comes and kills you."
Bitterly, I laugh. Cato. I escaped him once and if I have to I'll do it again. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Something within me tells me that I can, I can beat him if it boils down to it.
"What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" She speaks in a tone that I find ridiculous. She cannot fool me. Katniss wouldn't need a lookout, so I wouldn't be any more helpful than I am now. That's if I'd be able to climb a tree without killing myself.
"What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" I mirror her tone, desperate to prove to her that I can be of some use. "Just don't go far, in case you need help."
With a mighty sigh, Katniss resigns. "Fine. Here, look at these." Not wanting to provoke her any more, I do. She shows me some berries and roots that won't kill us and demonstrates how to dig them. Digging, I can do. I've certainly had my fair share of that back home. So I get to work, eager to go up in her estimation, but she stops me.
"Wait. We need to have a method of communicating when we're out of sight."
"Why?"
"'Why?'" Katniss looks at me. "We need to know that the other is alright."
It's a two-note whistle that mimics a bird's cry, fairly simple, and I pick it up quickly.
"I'll leave the pack with you, in case..." She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't need to. As soon as she's out of my sight I whistle, and I'm relieved to hear hers back.
The area is rich in roots, and after a while I've gathered quite a tidy pile. I figure I can take a quick drink by the stream, and as I do, I notice some berry bushes. The berries are a deep purple and they glisten attractively in the light. I recognise them to be the ones that Katniss showed me. I lay out the sheet of plastic by the pack and place the berries on it. Then I return to the stream where I found them and carry on. The gurgling of the stream is relaxing, the rhythm like a heartbeat, clearing all noise from my head.
Suddenly an arrow pierces the tree next to me. I leap back in surprise and the berries in my hand fly into the undergrowth. It's Katniss. But why is she so alarmed?
"What are you doing?" she snarls. "You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!"
"I found some berries down by the stream," I explain, simply. What is so bad about that?
"I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?"
"I didn't hear." I shrug. "The water's too loud, I guess." I observe her closely. She's trembling, with fear or with anger, I don't know. I walk over to her, rest my hands on her shoulders, and look her straight in the eye.
"I thought Cato killed you!" she cries loudly.
"No, I'm fine." Reassuringly I embrace her, but she's still and silent. "Katniss?"
She ducks away. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?"
"All right!"
"All right." Her voice quietens but it's the calm before the storm. "Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" She turns away, goes towards the pack, and drinks a bottle of water. I was foolish. Yet again. She watched Rue die, for goodness' sake, of course she'd react like this. Why didn't I do that simple thing she asked of me? Awkwardly, I stand there, unsure of what to do. "And you ate without me!"
"What? No, I didn't."
"Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese."
If there's one thing I hate, it's being accused of lying when I'm telling the truth. Rarely do I lie, unless the situation calls for it. "I don't know what ate the cheese," I speak slowly, trying to keep my temper in check, "but it wasn't me. I've been down the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"
Thankfully, Katniss doesn't make some kind of retort. She wanders over to the berries and gives them a good look. A long look. She picks a couple up and rolls them between her fingers. I'm expecting her to snap at me again, say that I've gathered something that will surely kill us. She's quiet for a long time.
The fire of the cannon breaks that quiet. Katniss whirls around. I raise my eyebrows in puzzlement. Then it's the low, steady drone of a hovercraft. The grey mass chokes the sky. Its not far from us. It pulls up the gaunt body of a girl. Foxface.A sickening thought takes hold of me: what if it's Cato?
Suddenly all my fears come rushing back in one overpowering deluge. He's near. He could kill again. His smirk appears in my mind and I can't stop myself as I imagine him grinning over Katniss' corpse. We have to get out! I grab Katniss and shove her towards the nearest tree, the one with her arrow sticking out of it. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above."
But Katniss stops. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's."
"What? I haven't even seen her since the first day." Have I? Nothing but terror registers; I just want to get Katniss moving again. "How could I have killed her?"
She unfurls her fingers and reveals the deep violet berries.