I lie still. The agonizing pain of movement is almost unbearable, so I remain motionless. The deep trench of thigh tissue dug by Cato's sword, throbs mercilessly, even in immobility. The burns from the fire sting like a whip, and my tracker jacker stings are swollen and tender, sending an aching pain through my skin when touched. It is blistering hot. Even under the thick layer of cool mud and tree roots, I am sweating. I know I am dying. I wish Katniss were here. I would be completely content to die in her arms, knowing she were safe.
I think about Claudius Templesmith's message last night. "Congratulations to those six tributes who remain. Now, I would like to announce a rule change. Under this new rule, if both tributes from the same district are the last two alive, then they will both be crowned victors!" That means that maybe; just maybe, Katniss and I can both go home. Assuming I survive. I have no doubt in my mind that Katniss will survive. She's quick enough and smart enough and brave enough to outlast any of the other tributes. I wonder if she's thinking of me. I hope so. Maybe she's coming to find me. I really hope so.
I start to drift willingly in and out of consciousness. My only lasting thought: Katniss. Her grey Seam eyes. Her long, dark hair. Her smooth, scarred olive skin. And her voice; harsh like knives, yet smooth like silk. Her beautiful voice. I can almost hear her calling my name. "Peeta! Peeta!" I snap abruptly awake, quickly realizing that I am not dreaming.
"Peeta! Peeta where are you?!"
I have to bite forcefully on my tongue to keep from calling to her. "Come to finish me off, sweetheart?" I ask teasingly, loud enough for her to hear. She whips her head around, attempting to find the source of my voice.
"Peeta?" I hear her ask urgently, stepping gingerly in my direction, but still not spotting me.
"Well don't stand on me," I tease, opening my eyes. Katniss jerks her head down, and jumps when she sees my blue eyes peering back at her.
"Peeta!" she cries ecstatically, dropping to her knees beside me. "Do that again." she commands, and I shut my eyes obediently. I hear her gasp, and know what she is seeing. Or rather, not seeing. She is seeing me become all but invisible, seemingly swallowed up by my riverbank surroundings.
"That is amazing." She breathes, awestruck. I wink at her.
"Camouflage is the last line of defense" I reply, grinning weakly. Even though my entire body is hidden under the dense layer of mud and leaves, I know my pain is visible.
"Where'd he cut you?" she asks nervously, clearly not looking forward to the answer.
"Left leg, up high" I reply, grinding my teeth together habitually at the memory.
"Right," she says, determined, but still hesitant. "Lets get you cleaned up."
Katniss spends a good half hour attempting to lift and slide me with dignity into the river, which is a mere two feet from where she found me, but to no avail. The pain is so shocking, that it's all I can do to stop myself from screaming and passing out. But even using all my strength, I can't hold back the sharp yelps of pain whenever my leg moves.
Katniss decides that the fastest way to wrestle me into the water is to simply roll me in. My skin tingles momentarily at her firm, fleeting touch as she grips my right shoulder and hip. She pushes. The pain hits me like a coal truck barreling down a mineshaft at 200mph, and crashes over me like a tidal wave in a storm. I grit my teeth with all the force I can muster and squeeze my eyes shut hard to hold the tears in. I finish a full turn, right to the edge of the river. Katniss steadies me and says decidedly, "I think I'll just leave you here."
"No more rolling?" I ask hopefully.
"No more rolling," she confirms. Katniss grabs my ankles and gently swings my legs into the river. The bone-chilling water takes my mind off the pain for a few minutes, until my legs adjust to the sudden plummet in temperature. Katniss plucks two plastic water bottles and a water skin from her fluorescent orange backpack –which shows a crude attempt at disguise with mud– and proceeds to fill them with water. She spends the next hour or so washing the camouflage from my body and peeling off my filthy clothes to rinse in the gentle surge of current.
Once my upper body is sufficiently riverbank-remnant free, and my burns and stings have been calmed by the healing concoctions in her bag, Katniss stares hesitantly at my pants, unsure of how to remove them. She very carefully inches them down and off my body. She freezes, startled eyes glued to the festering, inflamed gash on my thigh.
"Pretty awful, huh?" I say, watching her face intently. She even looks beautiful when she's disgusted.
"So-so" she says with a shrug, obviously trying to sound nonchalant. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines."
I peer skeptically up at her, but shrug it off and let her do her work. I follow her orders and carefully raise myself up a few inches, so Katniss can scoot a square of plastic under me. She then proceeds to wash my lower body. I wince as she digs the stinger out from the last of my tracker jacker lumps, but the leaf paste she applies alleviates the pain almost instantly. She rubs the soothing miracle that is burn cream on my final burns, and my body is relieved of all secondary pain. But I can see from Katniss' face that even she isn't sure how to tackle the gaping would on my thigh.
"Why don't I just give it some air, and then…" she trails off uncertainly.
"And then you'll patch it up?" I offer, almost feeling sorry for her.
"Yeah," Katniss agrees, obviously relieved for the suggestion. "In the meantime, you eat these." She hands me some dried pear halves. I eat them obediently, although I'm not particularly hungry.
I watch her from behind as she lays out my clothes on some rocks to dry in the still parching sun. She then begins to rummage through her small first aid kit, and decides to try the tracker jacker leaves. A few minutes after she applies them, a current of yellow-green pus begins to dribble persistently down my leg, before disappearing into the water. Katniss looks as if she might vomit.
"Katniss?" I ask, concerned. She meets my gaze, and I mouth "How about that kiss?" She bursts into laughter.
"Something wrong?" I ask, blinking innocently at her.
"I…I can't do this. I'm not my mother, or Prim. I'm no healer. And I hate pus! Ugh!" she looks at me disgustedly, and I can't help but laugh too. "Ugh!" Katniss repeats, rinsing off the leaves.
"How do you hunt?" I ask incredulously.
"Believe me, killing things is a lot easier than healing them."
"I'll take your word for it." I reply, wrinkling my nose.
Katniss applies three more batches of chewed-up leaves, and after several buckets of oozing pus, the wound does look better. The swelling has deflated considerably, and the pain has lessened a bit.
"What's next, Doctor Everdeen?" I ask brightly, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Um, I'll apply some burn medicine, that's probably good for infection, and bandage it up." Katniss replies, more asking than telling me. She smears a coat of burn cream on my wound, which makes it feel much cooler, and wraps it in a sterile cotton bandage. She eyes my undershorts indecisively, nibbling slightly on her lower lip, before telling me to cover myself with the plastic while she washes the undergarments.
"Oh, I don't care if you see me." I say, waving off her instruction. She lets out an exasperated sigh.
"You're just like the rest of my family! I care alright!" She turns her back on me, and I gingerly remove my undershorts, wincing as they brush my wound, before throwing them into the river in front of her and covering my lower region with the plastic. She's so cute and innocent, for a lethal hunter. Katniss enthusiastically beats my shorts clean and lays them out next to the rest of my clothes to dry.
I suddenly realize how tired I am. I doze off for a while, dreaming of home, before Katniss' concerned voice pulls me unwillingly back to consciousness.
"Peeta, we have to go."
"Go?" I ask, uncomprehendingly. "Go where?"
"Away from here. We need to find shelter."
She helps me to my feet, but as soon as my weight falls on to my damaged leg, I feel as if I might throw up. Katniss must have seen my grimace of pain, because she quickly ducks under my arm so that it hangs over her shoulder, and half carries the left side of my body.
"Come on, you can do this!" she grunts through gritted teeth, the strain of my weight causing her voice to crack.
But I can't. Not for long. We make it about 30 feet downstream before I all but collapse, eyes watering furiously. I feel my head lurch violently, and I think I may pass out. Katniss worriedly helps me to sit, and pushes my head between my knees, rubbing my back awkwardly, but the action was comforting all the same. After a few minutes, she helps me up and guides me slowly up the bank to a small cave. I plod down the cave floor, shivering from cold and exhaustion, but grateful to be sitting again.
I watch wearily as Katniss sprinkles the cave floor with a thick blanket of pine needles and rolls out her sleeping bag, thoughtfully tucking me in to it. She tries to sneak some fever pills into me, so I pretend not to notice and swallow them with refreshing gulps of water. However, I'm not really hungry, so I refuse the dried fruit she offers me. I snuggle drowsily into the sleeping bag as Katniss attempts to disguise the mouth of the cave, and tears it down minutes later, frustration etched clearly into her perfect features.
"Katniss?" I call to her, exhaustion evident in my voice. She sits beside me and brushes the hair back from my forehead with dancing fingers that leave a trail of electricity to chill my skin. "Thanks for finding me." I say, smiling sleepily.
"You would have found me if you could." She assures me, a smile playing on her lips, yet sadness waltzing in her eyes. She places a soft hand on my cheek, her thumb rubbing small circles on my face.
"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back– "
"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing." She says, cutting me off.
"I know, but just in case I don't– " I try to continue.
"No Peeta. I don't want to discuss it." She replies forcefully. She presses a finger to my lips to silence me.
"But I– " I am cut off by Katniss' cool, dry lips pressing against my fever-heated ones. I let my eyelids flutter closed. She breaks away after a minute, and says, "You're not dying, okay?"
"Okay." I murmur in agreement. She gets up, ducking her head as she exits the cave, so as not to hit it. I silently thrust a fist in the air, and mouth a cry of victory and joy.
Then the exhaustion returns and hits me like a sledgehammer to the head.
"God, I love her," I whisper. The words slur around my head as I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, haunted by tantalizing dreams of Katniss.