My mother slowly sits up and places a hand to her bandaged head, trying to assess the damage. "I'll be fine," she says after a moment of silence. She reaches out to touch Peeta's forehead. "He's freezing! We need to get somewhere warm." She checks his breathing, which is shallow, and then she checks his pulse. "It's weak. He has hypothermia," she says seriously.

This is what I was afraid of. Hypothermia is a killer. "Let's get him back to Haymitch!"

My mother crawl out of the thicket as I drag Peeta outside. She seems to notice that Peeta has stopped shivering, a sign that the hypothermia is getting worse. "Warm him up. Now."

What does she expect me to do? I rub my hands along his arms, trying to warm them. "Is this good?"

Prim joins us a moment later, shaking her head. "It would help if you shared your body heat with him." She bends down to pick up Buttercup. "I mean, if you two striped down and cuddled or something."

I stare at her in utter shock. It's true that the best way to share body heat is without clothes on, but I can't do that. It would be too awkward. I weight my options carefully. Either I deal with the awkwardness or let him freeze to death.

Prim notices my shock and adds, "it's the only way."

"It's okay," Peeta says. "I'm fine."

We walk in silence for the next few miles, and I can't help feeling ashamed by my own reluctance. Had I really considered letting him die as opposed to being naked around him? It's not like it would be the worst thing in the world, and it would be with Peeta. He wouldn't hurt me.

My thoughts are interrupted by Prim's voice. "Lavash!" She runs to him, and he hugs her tightly.

"I was so worried about you," he admits, tears in his eyes.

Prim wipes them away. "I was worried about you, too." She hugs him back, squishing Buttercup between them. "Oh, there's something you need to know." She pulls away and turns to face the rest of us.

Lavash's eyes widen when he spots Peeta. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's very cold," Prim replies softly. "But he will be fine once we warm him up."

"Where's Haymitch?" I ask urgently. "We need a sleeping bag."

Lavash spins around and runs off into the trees. "Follow me!"

We follow him at a much slower pace. My mother can't run due to the dizziness caused by her head injury, and Peeta is barely aware of his surroundings. I have to help him navigate around the many bushes and fallen logs that threaten to trip him.

Prim is keeping pace with Lavash, and they are holding hands so they won't get separated. Buttercup is running alongside them, whining because he isn't getting any attention. The kids are more focused on their mission to find Haymitch than on that annoying cat.

Lavash leads us to a cliff face with a large opening in the rock wall. It's another cave. Haymitch greets us at the entrance. "It's about time you guys showed up." He notices our situation and ushers us inside.

The cave is damp and chilly, but at least it offers us shelter from the elements. I notice many dead-end tunnels that branch off from the main one and expand toward the end. They almost look like rooms.

Haymitch digs around in my backpack until he finds my sleeping bag. "Here. Use this." He tosses it at me.

I catch it and turn to face Peeta, knowing what I must do. The sleeping bag won't warm him enough to save his life, not if he has hypothermia. I pull him along into one of the "rooms" I saw earlier.

"Katniss," he mumbles almost incoherently. "Katniss, you don't have to..."

I ignore him and begin taking off his wet clothing. I start with his shirt, which is easy enough to pull off. Peeta doesn't resist. He's staring at the wall behind me, a confused look on his face. I quickly take off his shoes and socks. But when I touch his pants, he grabs my hand and pulls it away.

"You don't have to. I'm fine."

He must know how uncomfortable this is for me. But if I don't do it, who will? I'm not going to let him die. I can't let him die. "Peeta, I'm doing this whether you like it or not." And then I yank his pants off and toss them aside. I decide to leave his underwear on. That can't hurt, right? "In you go."

Peeta crawls into the sleeping bag and hides his face from me. "I won't look."

I start peeling off my own wet clothing. It's not long before I'm also in my underwear, shivering in the chilly air. I quickly crawl inside the sleeping bag and wrap myself around him.

He nuzzles my neck. "Thank you."

"Don't go to sleep," I warn him.

I can hear my mother and Haymitch talking quietly in the other "room". They are discussion Peeta's condition. "He has hypothermia," my mother says. "If Katniss can't warm him..."

"He will die," Haymitch concludes. "She will save him. Those two survived the Games. A little cold won't kill them."

"I hope you're right," she replies.

I don't want to listen to them anymore, so I return my attention to Peeta. He is lying in my arms, staring up at my face. I kiss his forehead. "Let's play a game."

My suggestion seems to cheer him up. "What sort of game?"

I ruffle his wet hair affectionately. If he does die, I want his last moments to be pleasant. "It's called 'Would You Rather?', " I tell him. "I'll start. Would you rather have Effie's hair or Haymitch's drinking problem?"

Peeta pretends to think it over. "Definitely Haymitch's drinking problem. Neon wigs aren't really my style."

I give him a genuine smile. I would have chosen the drinking problem too. "Good choice. Now it's your turn."

"Would you rather mine coal or learn to bake?"

"Mine coal," I say automatically. "I can't bake. You don't want me to bake." I decide that two can play at this game. "Would you rather mine coal or learn to hunt?"

Peeta's eyes widen in mock surprise. "Me? With a bow? You don't want me near such a deadly weapon." He makes a coughing noise that sounds almost like laughter. "Mine coal."

He is beginning to sound like his usual self, but I know that he is still at death's door. He feels so cold despite my attempt to warm him. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough. "Your turn," I say, pulling him closer to me.

His arms curl around my bare body. "You're so warm," he mutters, closing his eyes.

I have to force myself not to panic. He's going to live. I won't let him die. "Stay with me, Peeta. It's your turn."

"Would you rather be here with me or at home?"

"With you, of course," I whisper into his hair. "Always with you."

He pulls away from me so that he can see my face. "Why?"

Is that the hypothermia talking or Peeta? He repeats the question softly, as if he's afraid of the answer. How do I answer him? I decide that it's best to be honest. "Because you are important to me."

"Oh." He seems satisfied with that answer.

We spend the rest of the night nestled in each other's arms, talking softly. He asks me personal questions about myself, and I tell him everything he wants to know. He is happy that I'm opening up to him, and I am happy to be spending time with him. I give him as much affection as I can manage, and he tells me how much he appreciates the attention.

My mother comes to check on him in the morning. "He's doing better," she informs me. "But we still need to keep an eye on him."

"Is he going to live?" I ask.

"Yes," she responds. "He will live as long as his body temperature doesn't drop any lower."