One. Two. Three. Four.

She counted them meticulously, the salty bread from District 4 she had taken a liking to.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The air was muggy, but she enjoyed the feel of warm sand sliding beneath her feet.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

There are twenty-four rolls from District 4. She looked at the faces of her allies, the black curtain of her hair disappeared when she lifted her head.

Peeta, Johanna, Finnick, Beetee, and of course herself.

There were twenty-four rolls, and five mouths to feed. Five rolls each. They wouldn't divide evenly, but maybe they wouldn't have to.

"Peeta do you know what this means?" Katniss sat beside him on the beach and was ecstatic upon the receiving of two dozen, perfectly baked rolls of salty, green bread.

Peeta smiled, but it seemed slightly sad to her. "I know, Katniss. This will all be over with soon."

Katniss ate her share of bread as images flooded her mind. Hovercraft bombings, shooting an arrow through a woman whose name she didn't know, and a bow that hummed to life only when it heard her voice.

"You should get some sleep," Peeta whispered in her ear. "You're going to need your rest if you and Johanna are going to succeed in your part of Beetee's plan."

She wanted to argue. To say that she will be able to run as far as need be. She outran the flame wall in the first Games, didn't she? When she opens her mouth to protest, Peeta puts his hand over her mouth to prevent her from speaking.

"Just go to sleep, alright? It may be your last chance to rest before the plan." Peeta sounds like he knows what he's talking about. He always does.

She hesitates for just a moment longer before she agrees to rest and sets her head upon his shoulder. The warm breeze caresses her face. She closes her eyes and the darkness soon follows, but she'll gladly accept darkness over nightmares.

Peeta waited until he was certain that Katniss was asleep before he removed the cheese buns from her grip and set them on the plate with the others. There were only thirteen, not twenty-four.

It hurt him to see her like this, believing she was still in the arena. The Games have done more damage to her than anyone had first guessed. He gently picked up her sleeping form and carried her to her bedroom, in her home, in the Victor's Village of District 12.

"You'll be out of the arena soon enough."

(I don't own anything. The Hunger Games do not belong to me.)