CHAPTER 5. The Game (Adrenalin)
It was noon.
Katniss was at home, sitting on the floor. She kept her back pressed against the foot of the couch and her eyes glued to the old TV set which stood in front of her. Prim and her mother sat on the sofa behind her.
The sound of fanfare blared through the ancient TV's speakers. The 74th Hunger Games were about to begin.
A landscape shot of the arena filled the screen. At first glance, the place looked like a forest. A significant portion of the enclosure was covered with tall pines and dense bushes. The thickness of the greenery, and the glossy texture of the grass which covered vast areas of the ground were the only signs that the place had been created by men and not by nature.
A small section to the West was covered with long blades of grass, which were high enough to conceal a person. There weren't any trees there, and the quick overview didn't really show the kind of terrain that lay underneath the overgrown plants.
A general scan of the forest showed two water sources. One was near the plain, located in the center of the arena, the other was hidden away in the woods.
The golden structure known as the cornucopia stood at the center of the field. Crates of food, weapons, and all sorts of supplies, spilled from the edifice's mouth. 24 round platforms had been placed in a circle around the building.
Backpacks of different sizes and other goodies lay scattered on the grassy area which separated the platforms from the golden horn.
There was a short beep.
The platforms softly rumbled as all 24 tributes emerged, simultaneously, all around the field. The clock on top of the cornucopia began its countdown.
Katniss braced herself. The first minutes of the Games were usually the most violent ones. Food, weapons, and tools were hard to come by inside the arena; and tributes only had one chance to get supplies from the cornucopia before the career alliance took control of the provisions.
It was normal for the weakest tributes, driven by desperation and fear, to make a mad dash towards the mouth of the golden horn where they were usually greeted by the bloodthirsty careers. The gruesome spectacle which inevitably followed was commonly known as "the bloodbath."
Individual shots of the tributes flashed on the screen identifying them by name and district and showing their placement in the circle. According to Claudius Templesmith's commentary, the positions in the circle were chosen randomly in an attempt to even out the tributes' odds.
Katniss's heart began to race as soon as she saw them.
The tributes from 3 and 6 looked terrified.
Rue and the fox-faced girl threw furtive glances toward the thicker part of the woods, while Thresh, Rue's partner, kept his eyes trained on the tall grasses which covered the area of the arena that was furthest from him.
Districts 1 and 2 were ready to snap into action, practically salivating as they considered the riches awaiting them inside the cornucopia.
The camera landed on Peeta. The girl from District 4 was standing next to him.
Katniss leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She didn't want to miss anything.
Peeta's face filled the screen. Katniss held her breath for an instant. For the first time since the reaping, he looked exactly like the boy she knew. No makeup, no flames, no extravagant clothes.
His hair was a bit shorter than usual, but it was styled in the old familiar way, with the same rebellious waves which fell onto his forehead and threatened to get into his eyes.
A sudden rush of sadness coursed through her at the sight of him. He didn't belong there. And yet, there he was, standing perfectly still as he followed the countdown on the clock.
His blank expression gave nothing away.
She wished she could reach into the TV set, grab him, and bring him back home, to the relative safety of their district. She shook her head, grateful that no one could hear her thoughts.
The boy from District 10 was the next to come up on the screen. He stood awkwardly on his platform. His shoulders hunched forward as he tried to keep his weight off of his foot. His lame foot, Katniss reminded herself.
After showing the girl from District 8 and the boy from 7, the camera landed on Tessa. Nervous energy radiated from her every pore, making her practically bounce off of the balls of her feet.
Her furrowed brow betrayed the inner battle she was waging as her eyes kept shifting between two objects the cameras didn't show.
Katniss briefly wondered what Tessa's two options were.
The camera moved on to show the remaining tributes.
Eventually, the countdown ran down. Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed across the field, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!"
Everything turned to chaos in the seconds which followed. Tributes scrambled as they desperately tried to get their hands on whatever they could find.
The career alliance rushed towards the cornucopia. They had no problem reaching it.
In a matter of seconds, the careers had secured the most important source of supplies inside the arena. Once they had distributed the weapons, the allies turned to face their competitors. The bloodbath was about to begin.
The next few minutes were a mess of rushing limbs, deep grunts, and pained screams. The cameras kept switching shots as they tried to cover all of the action. But, with six careers moving around, it was impossible to keep track of everything.
A list of the fallen tributes' names appeared on the left side of the screen. Katniss narrowed her eyes as she read and re-read the names. They were listed by district number, but the list kept changing as tributes continued to get killed.
The boys from Districts 5, 7 and 8 were on the list, accompanied by the girls from 6 and 3.
Time ticked by.
The list kept growing.
Katniss hugged her knees to her chest, she was so tense she could hardly breathe.
Suddenly, Tessa appeared on the screen. She was rushing towards the backpack which was closest to her platform.
Katniss watched wide-eyed as Tessa went speeding across the field. She was a couple of steps away from the bag when her left foot got snagged on an overgrown root.
Tessa's ankle twisted with a loud crack, and she came crashing down on the wet grass.
Her face contorted in pain as she stood up, placing her weight on her right foot. She turned her attention back to the backpack, only to discover that the boy from District 9 had beaten her to it.
It only took a few seconds.
The boy hesitated for an instant.
A noiseless knife landed on his back, lodging itself between his shoulder blades. The boy fell face forward. He was dead.
Tessa grimaced at the sight but wasted no time dislodging the backpack from the boy's tight grip.
A glimmer of hope shone in Tessa's eyes as she turned towards the woods. She ran.
The camera's angle shifted to show Clove running towards Tessa with a new knife held securely in her hand.
Tessa hobbled unsteadily. Her injured ankle restrained her movements slowing her down.
Clove's knife went into Tessa's thigh.
Tessa's pained scream filled the room as she fell to the ground. With shaky hands, she desperately tried to reach the blade to pull it out.
It was no use.
In no time, Clove was upon her. With a practiced twist of her wrist, the girl from District 2 slit Tessa's throat.
The beautiful girl who had twirled and shone was gone.
Katniss shuddered as the light went out from Tessa's Seam gray eyes.
Tessa's name flickered on the TV screen.
From her place on the couch, Prim let out a soft whimper.
Katniss turned towards her sister. She was cuddled in her mother's embrace, her face buried in the healer's chest.
The bloodbath continued for a few more minutes.
Eventually, the fighting stopped. The list of fallen tributes had 12 names on it. Peeta's wasn't one of them.
Hovercrafts were sent into the arena to retrieve the bodies.
The lush green grass shone with freshly spilled blood.
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Mandatory viewing was over. The TV screen went black, and the small room was engulfed in silence.
Prim's soft sobs, muffled by her mother's arms, were the only sound in the small room.
Katniss watched silently as Mrs. Everdeen tenderly rubbed her daughter's back and began to hum. It was an old familiar tune; the soothing melody she'd always used when she'd tried to comfort her girls.
Katniss couldn't remember the last time her mother had sung to her like that. But Prim was still so young and small; bundled against her mother's slight frame, it was hard to believe she was already 12.
Prim wriggled out of her mother's embrace and released a shaky sigh. Her tear-streaked cheeks were flushed. Clumsily, she wiped them dry and turned to face Katniss. "That could have been me," she said, shattering the silence.
A thick lump settled in Katniss's throat. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them spill. She didn't want Prim to know how true her words were, how scary it was that every year she'd have more entries in the bowl and more chances of being chosen.
"But it wasn't," Katniss replied in a soothing tone.
Prim nodded, her eyes filled with fresh tears as she whispered, "It could have been you."
"But it wasn't," Katniss repeated, hoping she sounded more knowledgeable and convincing than she felt.
"But it could have, Katniss!" Prim countered, her eyes narrowing with determination. "It could have been me, and it could have been you!" she wailed. "My name was inside that reaping bowl, same as yours, same as Tessa's… same as everyone else on that horrible list," she mumbled, unable to disguise her despair.
Katniss's heart ached. She knew Prim was right. Even if their circumstances were bleak, they were the lucky ones. They had managed to slip by, undetected, for one more year.
Katniss spent her days hunting, gathering, and trading because she wanted to keep her sister safe. It wasn't just about providing food for their table, it was also about keeping Prim from registering for tesserae. She was trying to give her sister the best odds she could, even if it meant putting herself at risk. But, as hard as she tried, she couldn't shield the twelve-year-old from the realization which had just struck her. The knowledge that, even if you'd never met them, you were connected to those people on the screen. And that the tribute's lives, which had been taken so cruelly from them, could have been yours.
It was a realization which hit every child in Panem at some point. It usually came with their first reaping. In Katniss's case, it had happened a couple of years later, once the shadow of her father's loss and the imminent threat of starvation had retreated to the back of her mind. It was impossible not to make the connection. Sooner or later, everyone reached the same conclusion: someone else had died so that you could live.
Unlike her sister, Prim was catching on early.
Katniss shook her head, there was nothing she could say or do to make Prim feel better. This heartbreak was something she couldn't shield her from. What really mattered was that Prim was safe; she was just upset.
Katniss stood up and moved to sit on the couch, managing to squeeze herself into the small space between her sister and the armrest.
Prim reached her hand out to her, quickly entwining their fingers together.
Katniss began to caress the back of her sister's hand with the pad of her thumb. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with the right words to say, but none of her ideas seemed good enough. Their situation was just as helpless as Prim had painted it. There was no hiding from reality. Their names had been inside the bowl, and they could have been picked.
Under different circumstances, Katniss would have tried to reassure Prim by reminding her that she had the lowest amount of entries a person could have. But, after the last reaping, that fact didn't make her feel safe anymore.
She hadn't wanted to dwell on it, but she was scared. Peeta's reaping had been an eye-opener. A harsh reminder that every single slip of paper inside the glass bowl counted. Since there were no certainties and no guarantees she could offer, she had to settle for trying to be as truthful and honest as possible.
"Little Duck, look at me," she instructed, "you're here, I'm here and, right now, this is the best place we could be. Yes?"
Prim nodded, her blue eyes never leaving her sister's.
"Well," Katniss continued, "we're going to try our hardest to keep it that way. Alright?"
Prim's eyes narrowed, her mouth was set in a thin line. She wasn't satisfied, but she was no fool, she knew this was the best she could hope for. She nodded and closed her eyes. She was tired.
Katniss let out a deep, shaky sigh. She hated that she couldn't offer anything better and that all her efforts and hard work still wouldn't ensure her sister's survival. But, more than anything, she hated that her sister was no longer a child. She was old enough to be reaped and old enough to understand some of the harshest realities of the world they lived in. She would have given anything to protect Prim's innocence a bit longer, but she knew there was no going back.
The loud knock on the door startled them.
Katniss rushed to answer. Most visitors to the Everdeen household were patients looking for her mother; desperate souls searching for some sort of relief from whatever ailed them or their loved ones. Mrs. Everdeen didn't like to keep them waiting.
She opened the door and gasped. She hadn't expected to find Gale Hawthorne, looking winded and grimy, standing in front of her.
"Hey! Are you ok?" she asked as she inspected him. She'd never seen him like that before, covered in ash and soot after a long day in the mine.
He must have recognized the signs of worry on her face because he wasted no time reassuring her. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," he replied. Gale took a deep breath, a smile formed on his lips as he slowly let the air out of his lungs. "I'm ok, I just ran all the way from the mines," he chuckled as he shook his head.
Katniss's mouth opened in surprise. "And, why would you do that?" she questioned.
Gale sobered up. "I saw the bloodbath." His gray eyes, so similar to hers, had suddenly turned sad. His voice was thick with concern when he asked, "How are you holding on, Catnip?"
"I'm all right," she said shrugging. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she admitted, "I'm worried about Prim, though. First Games are usually the hardest."
"Yeah," he agreed, "I know what you mean. I wonder how Rory is taking it," he mused.
She nodded, Rory was a smart kid. He'd probably figured out exactly the same things Prim had. Gale wasn't going to find a happy family when he got home.
"So, you're okay then?" he asked.
"Yeah," she confirmed. "Like I said, Prim's a bit shaken but, other than that, everything's fine."
"Good," he said nodding for emphasis. Katniss felt his eyes, burdened with worry, searching her face. "Well, at least she didn't know Tessa. In person, I mean," he added, looking straight at her.
Katniss frowned. Why was Gale… her eyes widened as understanding sank in. Reaping day.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she couldn't find the words, so she closed it once more. For the briefest of seconds, she considered explaining the situation to her friend. How hard could it be? She just had to tell him she didn't know Tessa. But that would mean revealing she knew Peeta, and how she knew him.
Katniss didn't like secrets and misunderstandings, but she definitely wasn't ready to share that information with Gale, maybe she'd never be.
This doesn't concern him, she reminded herself.
Katniss looked up. Gale's anxious face covered in soot reminded her that, even if she didn't owe him any explanations, Gale was still her friend and he was worried about her. She had to tell him something.
Opening her mouth, she forced herself to mumble, "I didn't really know her that well either."
"Oh?"
She knew Gale's reply was an invitation for her to elaborate, but she had precious little to add. Still, she couldn't just stand there and say nothing.
"Yeah," she confirmed, "we weren't friends or anything."
She knew it wasn't enough, this information in no way justified her reaction on reaping day, but it was too late. She couldn't back down now. She searched her mind, wishing there was something more she could offer. "She was nice," she added, almost as an afterthought. "She was pleasant and sweet, and everyone seemed to like her," she finished.
"Ok." Gale nodded. The hesitation in his tone told her he wasn't completely satisfied, but he knew she wasn't going to say anything else.
Relieved, Katniss made sure to keep her expression blank. Having a reputation for being surly and tight-lipped was finally paying off.
"Well," Gale said, finally looking away from her. "I guess I should get going then. I don't have that much time left before the next mandatory transmission begins.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked. "Are you watching here, or out on the big screens?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. We haven't decided yet. What are you guys doing?"
"Oh, we're definitely going to the town square. There's no way I'm spending my Sunday trapped indoors!"
She nodded. She knew Gale was probably itching to be outside. It was bad enough that they couldn't go hunting while the Games were on. But spending a perfectly good Sunday stuck indoors with his mother and his siblings sounded like some kind of torture.
"Maybe I'll see you there," she offered.
"Alright. I'm off then. Hug Prim for me? I'd do it myself, but I don't think she wants to be showered in coal," he added looking at himself. A flash of sadness clouded his eyes as he inspected his appearance.
Katniss wished she could say something, anything to make her friend feel a little better about his circumstances. But she'd never been good with words and, besides, what could she possibly tell him that would make his life more bearable. He hated going down into the mines every day. He hated feeling trapped inside the fence. She understood how he felt, but none of her words would change his reality, so what was the point of talking about it?
Katniss watched as her best friend turned around and started walking away from her. He had only taken a couple of steps when she called after him.
"Gale! Thanks for stopping by."
He turned around for a moment and flashed her a fleeting smile, "Yeah, you're welcome Catnip."
Katniss stood silently by the door, her eyes followed her friend's tall frame until he turned around a corner and disappeared from view.
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Katniss was back on her spot on the living room floor with her back pressed against the couch, and her legs stretched out in front of her. This time, Prim sat next to her with Buttercup sprawled on her lap.
Mrs. Everdeen sat on the armchair on the far side of the room. Her body was angled toward the TV set, but she kept her eyes trained on the pile of torn, tattered clothes she was turning into bandages.
There was a high-pitched sound, and the TV lit up.
Claudius Templesmith's heavily made-up face filled the screen. Mandatory Transmission had begun.
Mandatory viewing times were only enforced in the districts; where people had to stop production to watch their children die on their screens. In the Capitol, the only sector that didn't participate in the Games, residents were free to watch at their own convenience. The nightly recaps were, by far, the most popular show among the country's sophisticated elite.
Claudius Templesmith greeted his audience and introduced a short clip with what he called, "the highlights of the day."
Katniss and Prim watched in silence as the horrible images from the bloodbath danced in front of their eyes once more.
Unlike the morning screening, the evening presentation was heavily edited. People all over Panem were forced to relive their tributes' deaths presented in slow motion, or sometimes still frame, as expert commentators babbled incessantly about the impressive skills displayed by the career alliance.
Once the footage from the bloodbath had been exhausted, Templesmith moved on to what he called "activity updates inside the arena."
The images on screen jumped from tribute to tribute, showing what each one of them was up to.
In the few hours since the bloodbath, the career alliance had completely taken over the cornucopia and its supplies. They had made a pile of food and weapons, and they had gotten the tribute from District 3 to remove the explosives from the launch platforms and to spread them around the precious loot, turning the area into a minefield.
The massive boy from District 11 was hiding in the area covered by the tall grasses. A list displayed on the left side of the screen showed the supplies he had managed to acquire during the bloodbath.
Katniss wrinkled her nose and wondered how a few nuts, some crackers, an empty water bottle, a short serrated knife and a large tarpaulin would help him in that place.
The fox-like girl from District 5 was up next. She had found a safe hiding place under some thick shrubs. She wasn't far from the cornucopia and was keeping a watchful eye on the careers and all their activities.
According to Claudius Templesmith, she had already figured out the trick with the explosives, and wouldn't have any difficulty reaching the food and supplies whenever the pile was left unattended.
New shots filled the screen. The sun had begun to set in the arena, and the tributes were getting ready for the night.
Prim gasped loudly as the next tribute showed up on screen. Rue, the small girl from District 11, was setting up a nest of sorts on the highest branches of a solid birch.
"How did she get there?" Prim wondered.
Katniss smiled. The answer seemed so obvious to her she couldn't believe it hadn't crossed her sister's mind. "She climbed," she said.
Prim's eyes widened. Her voice was barely a whisper when she asked, "Can you climb that high?"
"No, Little Duck," Katniss assured her. "I'm a good climber, but I've never tried to go that high. I've never really needed to."
The sisters watched in silence while the young girl wrapped the straps of her small backpack around her legs, securing them to the branch she was sitting on.
"Why is she tying herself to the tree?" Prim asked.
"'Cause she's smart. She's making sure she won't fall down if she falls asleep."
Prim nodded as she considered her sister's words. A moment later she added, "That's what she must have meant during her interview... when she said they had to catch her first."
"Probably," Katniss agreed. Her chest tightened. The girl seemed perfectly capable of staying out of harm's way, but she wouldn't be able to do much if she ever ran into the career pack.
The girl from District 8 had set up camp in a clearing in the middle of the wooded area and was gathering kindling to light a fire.
Katniss questioned the soundness of her plan. The temperature would probably drop during the night, but lighting a fire in the dark would no doubt attract all sorts of predators.
Peeta's name flashed on the screen. He was next. Katniss leaned forward. She folded her legs against her chest and hugged them tightly.
Claudius Templesmith recounted everything Peeta had done since the Game had begun. According to the commentator, the baker's son had run into the woods as soon as the countdown had stopped. He hadn't bothered to join in the fight at the cornucopia, but he had managed to snatch a backpack as he fled to safety.
A new list popped on the screen describing the contents of Peeta's backpack.
Katniss held her breath as she tried to retain all the information. Peeta's bag contained an empty water bottle, some iodine drops, a small switchblade, a box of wooden matches, a packet of nuts, some dried fruits, a bag of dried beef strips, a thin square of fabric which reflected body heat, and a first aid kit.
She smiled. It wasn't much, but it was one of the best backpacks she'd seen so far. If Peeta rationed his supplies wisely and managed to catch or gather some food, he might get by.
Her attention went back to Claudius's narration. He was explaining how Peeta had kept running for a while, dodging trees and shrubs along the way. He hadn't stopped until he'd reached the water source which was furthest from the cornucopia and the careers.
After a quick inspection of the area, he'd discovered a collection of large rocks that formed small cave-like structures, and he'd decided to set up camp inside one of them.
The camera focused on Peeta and his lakeside camp.
The sun was setting on the edge of the arena. Dark reds, bursts of purple and different shades of orange painted the sky.
The District 12 tribute sat on a rock next to the water's edge as he took small sips from his water bottle. His blue eyes reflected the colors of the sky as he calmly observed every detail of the world around him.
Katniss's eyes scanned the screen. She drank in every detail of Peeta's face and body, eagerly trying to make an inventory of every scratch, tear and bruise she could find on him. Luckily, there wasn't much damage to be found. Other than a few grazes on his hands and a small, superficial cut on his cheek he looked ok.
Her speeding heart settled as she watched him. He was more like an explorer, who had been taking a leisurely stroll in the woods, than a potential victim of the career's lust for blood.
His peaceful demeanor shocked her, and she worried that he wasn't being careful enough. Sitting out in the open like that, while the careers were out and about, didn't seem like a good idea. But one look at the general chart, which was on constant display in a screen corner, put her mind at ease. The closest tribute was miles away.
Peeta took a deep breath. He laid down on the ground, locking his hands under his head, and closed his eyes. The last pale rays of sun touched his cheeks, and he smiled.
The camera was so close to him that Katniss could see the constellation of freckles which covered his nose. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers over them. Would his skin feel warm to the touch? Would his cheeks be soft, like a boy's, or scratchy, like her father's had been?
She held her breath for an instant, trying to hang on to the sudden warmth traveling through her veins.
Claudius Templesmith's face appeared on the screen, and Katniss winced at the sudden intrusion of the garish anchor into her home.
"As you can see, the sun has set inside the arena," the presenter announced. "It's time to update our tributes. I'm sure they're all dying to know who's still standing," he added, laughing proudly at his witty remark.
Katniss turned to look at Prim. The young girl looked like she was about to burst into tears.
"Come here, Little Duck," Katniss instructed, opening her arms to her sister.
Without hesitation, Prim slid into her sister's embrace.
One by one, the official pictures of the dead tributes flashed on the screen. Most images were followed by footage of the remaining tributes' reactions.
The careers howled and hit their chests, acting like the arrogant predators they were. But there were others, like the girl from 5 or the boy from 10, who looked remorseful and even sad when they saw their partners' images projected onto the night sky.
Tessa's picture was the last one.
Katniss felt Prim tensing in her arms at the sight of the grey-eyed girl.
The camera focused on Peeta once more. He was standing by his cave's entrance, his eyes fixed on the image reflected above him. Suddenly, he lifted his left hand, touched his three middle fingers to his lips and held them out to the sky towards Tessa's reflection.
"Is that… Mom, is that the funeral salute?" Prim asked.
"Yes, Prim," Mrs. Everdeen's voice sounded hollow and broken. Even after all those years, the thought of the ancient salute to the dead overwhelmed her. "He's saying goodbye," she added. "He's paying his respects to Tessa."
Tears welled in Katniss's eyes. She'd been a scared 11-year old girl the last time she'd seen the funeral salute, and she still remembered how lonely she'd felt. The room full of miners, who held their fingers out as they paid their last respects to her father and the other victims of that horrible explosion, hadn't brought her any comfort.
Her father was gone. Her mother was useless. Prim was too young to understand.
She had been all alone, and she knew it. Those miners might have valued her father, but they wouldn't be able to help. They hadn't. No one had helped her. Just Peeta.
Peeta. Who had survived his first day in the arena and was doing something she'd never seen before; using his district's ancient salute to honor his partner.
Her heart ached as she thought about how friendly Tessa and Peeta had seemed in the previous week. She was sure they hadn't known each other before the reaping, but who was to say they hadn't become friends during training?
It didn't sound like a good strategy, befriending someone you might have to kill; but anything seemed possible whenever Peeta Mellark was concerned.
Claudius Templesmith's voice filled the small room. He reminded the audience of the times for the next mandatory viewing, and he wished everyone a good night's sleep. The screen went black. The show was over.
That night, in the darkness of her bedroom, Katniss tried to remember everything she knew about the arena.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the map she'd seen on TV. According to all the experts, Peeta had been very lucky when he decided to head towards the lake. Besides having shelter and a water source, he'd be able to fish and gather some edible plants to supplement his supplies.
Not knowing whether he'd be able to do such things bothered her. Fishing was simple enough once you saw the fish, but gathering could be dangerous. Even Gale, who had spent so much time out in the woods, was sometimes unsure of what to eat and what to avoid.
Her heart raced anxiously as she worried about Peeta eating the wrong thing and dying by mistake.
Prim's deep sigh startled her. "You can't sleep?" the young girl asked.
"No. Did I wake you?" Katniss enquired, worried that her tossing and turning had bothered her sister. "Do you want me to go into the living room?" she offered.
"No. I'm fine," Prim assured her, yawning widely as if to prove her sleepiness. After a small pause, she added, "He's going to be ok, Katniss."
"What?" Katniss asked, completely taken off guard by her sister's declaration.
"Peeta," Prim clarified. "He's gonna be ok. He's got supplies and a hiding place. The closest tributes are miles away from him, and they're not even careers. He isn't hurt. He'll be fine."
A thick lump settled on Katniss's throat. She didn't know what to say. She had been keeping her concern over Peeta to herself, or so she thought anyway. She couldn't understand how her sister had figured it out.
She was about to protest, to tell Prim she didn't know what she was talking about; but she knew it was pointless. Instead, she nodded and tried for her most convincing tone.
"You're right, Little Duck," Katniss said, "he'll be ok."
She hoped Prim had been too sleepy to notice the doubt lacing her words.
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AN. I want to thank the lovely AlwaysEverlark for the beautiful banner she made for this story.
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The Hunger Games Trilogy is the property of Suzanne Collins. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.