"Who do you think would win in a cage match: Effie Trinket or Caesar Flickerman?" I ask.

Katniss wrinkles up her nose. "You mean that chirpy spokeswoman for Capitol Coal and the host of that stupid dating show? What's it called…"

" 'Panem's Sweethearts.' Yep, that's the one!"

"Oh, Effie definitely. If she didn't knock him out right away with her perfume she could always puncture his windpipe with her hot pink stilettos."

I laugh, and Katniss' lips turn up in that quirky little smile of hers, but a few moments later she cocks her head and gives me one of those penetrating stares that make me feel like she's x-raying my soul. "You keep making jokes, but you're still sad," she says without preamble.

Her insight is eerily accurate—humor is my defense mechanism. However, sprawled out with Katniss in the long, ticklish grass of the meadow is also the best I've felt in a long time. Katniss, who I've realized never feels comfortable unless she's in constant motion, has busied her fingers weaving a bunch of wildflowers into a tiara, a gift for Prim no doubt. I steal a glance at the way her impossibly long eyelashes just barely brush the apples of her cheeks as she looks down at her weaving, and my heart starts pounding in overtime. Honestly, my heart really deserves a pay raise for all the extra work it's been doing the past few weeks.

"Peeta?" she says, concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah?"

"You just look like you have something on your mind."

I look at her thoughtfully before I respond. "Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking that my old man would've really liked you. I wish you could've have had time to get to know him."

"Me too," she says, lifting her eyes to mine for a fraction of a second before going back to fiddling with the stem of a Black-Eyed Susan. We fall into a comfortable silence and I'm just about to comment that the fluffy cumulous cloud billowing overhead looks a lot like Haymitch digging in the icebox for booze, when Katniss suddenly pipes up again.

"Remember when you asked if I dance?" she says unexpectedly.

Oh Katniss, you and your non-sequiturs.

"Yes," I draw out, waiting to see where she'll go with this.

"Well, it's just this Seam thing that we do every year after the harvest. It's stupid really…"

"Doesn't sound stupid."

"It's a dance," she says, blushing furiously. "Not as fancy as your Gran's or anything…but it's fun…I mean, it might make you feel better…and Prim would love it if you…but you probably don't want to…"

I'm almost inclined to let Katniss bluster on because she is so incredibly adorable when she's flustered, but I decide to save her. "Katniss Everdeen," I say coyly, batting my eyes at her in jest. "Are you inviting me to a dance?"

If possible, she flushes still darker.

"Well, don't expect a corsage or anything," she shoots back at me. Katniss gets up and brushes the grass from her frayed trousers, still scowling at me determinedly despite the fact that I am literally rolling on the ground in mirth. "Tomorrow at eight o'clock, ok?" she snipes and stomps off across the meadow towards the Seam.

I spend an inordinate amount of time getting ready for the dance and by 7:30 I'm stressed and sweaty, a pile of discarded clothing littering my bedroom floor. Everything I own suddenly seems entirely wrong. If I show up looking too dressed up, I'll feel like a pompous, Merchant schmuck, if I'm too casual, I'll look like I don't respect her and her friends. I almost consider calling Delly to ask for her advice, and she would probably happily agree, but considering the baggage between us, and my borderline illegal friendship (if you can even call it that) with Katniss, I decide that it's not the best idea. I eventually settle on a pair of khaki trousers and a dark blue button down shirt and then barricade myself in the bathroom to fight a losing battle with my hair. At quarter to eight I know that I have to leave right away or risk being late, and considering how vulnerable Katniss is making herself by letting me into her world, being late is definitely not an option. The stakes are high. I cannot blow this.

There is a knock on the bathroom door, and after checking my hair one more time, I try to stroll out casually, as if I haven't just spent the last fifteen minutes primping like a girl.

"Jeez, it's about time Peet—" begins Bannock, but he stops short when he gets a good look at me, and an evil grin slowly spreads across his face. "You've got a date!" he exclaims gleefully. "Aw, my little bother's got a date." He catches me in a headlock and effectively ruins any progress I had made on my wayward hair.

"Gah, Bannock, get off me!" I yowl, grabbing his arms and trying to bash him off on the wall. "C'mon, I'm going to be late!"

He musses my hair one last time before releasing me, panting slightly. "Well, spill. Who is it then? And please don't say Dorna Mills…"

I roll my eyes at him, "God no. It's no one. I'm just hanging out with some…friends…from school. You wouldn't know them."

"It's Braids, isn't it?" he whispers, nudging me knowingly in the ribs, and by the way I leap to clamp my hands over his mouth, I realize that I've just involuntarily confirmed the veracity of Bannock's guess.

"Bannock, I swear to God, if you tell anyone…" I threaten.

Bannock just laughs. "Relax Peeta, I'm not going to say anything." His eyes soften a bit. "Besides, you've been working way too hard at the bakery since dad…" He can't finish the sentence and swallows hard. "Anyway, he'd want you to have some fun, you know? So just remember what I said, and be careful."

"Thanks, Bannock," I say and I pull him in so that we can awkwardly slap each other's backs. I really am lucky to have a brother like him, and if anyone's been working hard since dad passed, it's Bannock. I make a mental note that I owe him big time for this.

A few moments later, I am flying out the back door, carefully avoiding the living room where mom is gossiping on the phone to Tadd Tepsa's mother, and beating the path towards the Seam. I breathe in a lungful of crisp autumn air and sigh. The night is unseasonably warm and there is yellow, harvest moon slowly rising over the mountains. It's times like this that almost make you forget how dismal the District is by day. I stop by the field near school and pick a bouquet of late blooming wild flowers (like my relationship with Katniss?), and remembering her puzzling fondness for dandelions, I am sure to include a few in the arrangement. I laugh a little to myself as I think about how Dorna would react if I presented her with the same bouquet: "Weeds?" she would shrill. "You brought me weeds?"

I round the corner to our usual meeting place at the border between Merchant and Seam territory and gasp. Katniss is standing by the hedge wearing a simple, light blue dress that falls to just above her knees and her hair is braided up into a complicated looking twist that accentuates her long, graceful neck. I can see a fading half moon scar just under her left ear, and the sudden urge to press my lips to it sets me trembling.

"Hi," she says softly and her usual scowl is replaced with a tiny, self-conscious smile.

"You're beautiful," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Well, now I've gone and done it. Way to go Peeta, you moron! Open mouth, insert foot.

Katniss casts her silver eyes downward and folds her arms across her chest protectively.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. Oh, great idea, Peeta. Apologize. Like that'll help. The best thing to do is probably to ignore my gaffe and plow ahead as if nothing has happened. "Um, I brought these for you," I say, shoving the bouquet into her hands. At least now she has something with to fidget with as she recovers herself.

"Thank you," she says stiffly, still not able to meet my eyes. She has noticed the dandelions though, and for God knows what reason this seems to mollify her a bit.

I sigh heavily. "Katniss, please don't run away." I know it must sound like I'm begging, and let's face it, I am.

She's silent for a few seconds and then she says cryptically, "If I did, you would never catch me." Katniss is not one to be coy. She's telling me the truth, and she isn't just talking about tonight either. I know that if she decides to run away from this, from me, it will be forever, and nothing I say or do will be able to stop her.

Tension crackles between us like live wires until Katniss finally speaks again. "Ready to go?" she asks, and her tone is almost…bright? She beckons for me to follow her. "Come on, the Harvest Festival has already started!"

Her sudden change in demeanor completely disorients me and I nearly trip over my own feet in my rush to obey. I'm beginning to think I will never understand this girl.

As we approach the brightly lit barn and the sounds of giddy laughter and a thrumming banjo glide towards us on the evening breeze, I'm suddenly feeling overcome with anxiety and doubts. What if her friends don't like me? Will I meet her mother in there? If Gale sees me will he just come right up and throttle me in public, or will he be kind enough to beat the living daylights out of me in a more private location?

I turn to look at Katniss in the hopes that she will ease my nerves. I wonder if she is worried too. "I guess it feels weird to have me here, huh?" I say, looking at the cheerful golden light spilling from the string of paper lanterns hanging across the entryway. The dilapidated barn is so refreshingly different from Gran's pristine, showy parlor—it's beautiful without even trying, much like Katniss.

"I'm not ashamed of where I come from if that's what you're implying," she says defensively. Oh brother, here we go again.

"No! No, that's not what I meant at all, Katniss. I actually just thought that maybe…you might be ashamed of me."

She scowls at me, confused. "Why would I be ashamed of you?" she demands.

"You know, because of how my people treat your people. I'm ashamed of it."

"You're not like them," she says as if this settles the matter.

"But—"

"Look, do you want to come in or not?" she snaps, putting her hands on her hips impishly.

"Of course I do," I say with feeling.

It's worthless to argue with her, so instead I march up the peeling red door and pull it open.

"After you," I say, smiling.

On the stage in front of us there is a four-piece band comprised of a guitar, a banjo, a fiddle and a string bass, which is playing old mountain airs and fast, jaunty dance tunes. As we enter there are about thirty couples crammed onto the dance floor flying across the room in the most complicated jig I've ever seen. Everyone is laughing, slapping their knees in time to the music, carefree. It's a side of the Seam I've certainly never seen before and it brings a wide grin to my face that absolutely refuses to disappear. I glance sideways at Katniss and I think I see some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Then from out of nowhere Prim comes bounding up to us dragging an embarrassed looking Rory Hawthorne by the hand.

"Mr. Mellark!" she squeals. "You came!"

"Of course I did. Wouldn't have missed it for all the sugar cookies in Panem!" I say, tugging on one of her pigtails.

Prim turns to Katniss. "Greasy Sae said she'll give Rory and me a caramel apple if we help her a little at the food cart. Can we? Please? Can we?"

"Go on then, little duck," says Katniss, smiling that big easy smile that only Prim can evoke and tucking in the tail of her blouse.

"Hooray!" cheers Prim. "See you later, Mr. Mellark."

"Save me a dance!" I call as she drags the awkward Hawthorn kid into the crowd.

I'm just about to get the nerve up to ask Katniss for a dance when a barrel-chested man wearing a red flannel shirt and a big hat catches sight of her and comes over. He looks like he might be an old friend of her father's or something.

"Well, hello there little lady," he says, tipping his hat.

Katniss' face lights up. "Mr. Julian!" she cries.

"Think blondie here will mind if I take you for a little spin," he says good-naturedly, nodding in my direction.

Katniss looks at me questioningly, and after I wave her on with a smile, Mr. Julian whisks her out into the organized chaos of the dance floor. I've never seen her looking this happy, and honestly, I'm a bit relieved that I'll be able to sit this first number out. Looking at the breakneck pace and the exuberant manner in which the Seam dancers are executing their steps, I can almost see a leg cast in the apothecary with my name on it. I glance around at the flushed, merry faces in the room and I recognize quite a few of them from around town. An older woman with thinning black hair and her tall, gaunt-faced husband wave at me cheerfully, and I realize that they were at my father's funeral. The truly amazing thing is that no one is looking at me suspiciously or questioning my presence, in fact, they hardly even seem to have noticed me at all. I try to imagine walking into a Merchant party with Katniss on my arm—the whole room would be in hysterics. There would be chaos. There would be Peacekeepers. I swallow hard. I'm beginning to love the Seam more and more each minute.

It's only then that I notice who has cut in on Katniss' dance. It's Gale. He sweeps her around the dance floor as if they are birds on wing, swooping and diving, flitting through the steps in perfect unison. She is laughing. I shouldn't be jealous, I have no claim on Katniss, and he is her best friend after all. I try to remind myself that if it weren't for Gale, Katniss might have had a lot harder time providing for her family, that she might have gotten thinner and thinner until she wasted away completely. When it comes down to it, I should really be thanking Gale. So then why am I clenching my fists so indignantly at my sides? Why do I feel my blood pressure rising against my will?

The jig ends with twang of the banjo, and as they come ambling over to where I'm standing, Gale slings an arm over Katniss' shoulders. I try not to smile too smugly as she shrugs it off. Her face is flushed with exertion a few glossy strands of hair have sprung free from her braid so that they are framing her face. I bite my tongue to avoid making another disastrous comment about how beautiful she is.

Gale finally catches sight of me and gives me a scowl to rival one of Katniss'. "What's he doing here?" he asks harshly. I know he must recognize me as the Merchant boy from the bakery.

Katniss hands us both a glass of cold apple cider and gives Gale a warning look.

"This is Peeta Mellark. I invited him." She takes a sip from her own glass and starts tapping her foot in rhythm to the music, seemingly oblivious to the ridiculous display of male posturing that is going on right in front of her face.

Gale draws himself up so that I cannot miss the fact that he's several inches taller than me. "Yeah, I know Mellark," he says, addressing Katniss. Then he rounds on me. "What, there aren't enough Capitol parties for you? Where's your sequined headdress and your rhinestone tie?"

I would love to slug the guy right in his smug, too-handsome face, but I know Katniss would probably never speak to me again, so I decide to play it off lightly. "Oh, rhinestones are so last season," I say in the affected voice of a Capitol man. "I left the tie with the butler on the way out of my castle."

Katniss lets out a little snort of laughter, and Gale glares at me. He turns to Katniss, lowering his voice and leaning down to speak into her ear. "Katniss, what are you doing?" he hisses.

"I'm enjoying the Harvest Festival, Gale," she snaps. "What are you doing?"

"You know what I m—"

"No, I don't know what you mean," she says, cutting him off.

They stare daggers at one another for a moment. "Fine," he finally snaps. "But you're being stupid!"

"I don't know why you're so angry, Gale!" she shouts, looking bewildered by his behavior. People are beginning to stare.

"Don't you?" he shouts back incredulously, and I can see the hurt behind his eyes before he stalks off towards the back of the room.

Katniss turns to me awkwardly. "Sorry about that. He just doesn't like meeting new people, that's all."

You mean he doesn't like seeing you with new people, especially people like me. Is she really this oblivious?

I shake my head at her. "You just don't understand the effect you can have."

Katniss makes an indistinguishable noise in the back of her throat and takes another sip of apple cider. "Hey, isn't that your friend Haymitch?" she says curiously.

I follow her gaze and see that, sure enough, Haymitch Abernathy is crowded around a table with a bunch of miners, hands clamped around a big tankard of beer, laughing uproariously. What on earth is he doing here? I know he said that he's seen Katniss around the Hobb, but I never imagined his dealings with the Seam extended much further than the desire to replenish his stash of white liquor.

"What the—?"

"Oi, Peeta! Over here!" shouts Haymitch. I try to pretend that I haven't seen him while he gestures frantically in my direction.

"Quick Katniss, pretend that we're engrossed in a deep and meaningful conversation and maybe he'll leave us alone!"

Too late. Haymitch stumbles over and throws an arm around me to steady himself. "They sure know how to throw a good shindig in these parts, huh kid?"

I cough at the smell of Haymitch's breath. "Erm, sure do," I agree, scanning around me for some way out of this situation.

"I see you've found your huntress again. How you doing, Sweetheart?" he says to Katniss. She glares at him in response. Perhaps someone should tell Haymitch that Katniss isn't really the type for pet names. "Ouch. This is a prickly one, boy. Proceed with caution."

I sigh wearily. "Katniss, meet Haymitch Abernathy, District 12's biggest pain in the rear." Haymitch bows ceremoniously. "Haymitch, this is Katniss Everdeen."

"Your girlf—" Haymitch begins saucily.

"My friend!" I practically shout.

Haymitch's diabolical grin widens. "She doesn't talk much, does she?" he says to me in a loud whisper.

"You don't bathe much, do you?" Katniss retorts.

Haymitch hoots with laughter. "Now that's some spunk," he slurs. "I like her."

The band begins a new song and Haymitch's ears suddenly perk up. "Uh oh, this is my gig!" he cries, whipping a harmonica out of his pocket. "I'll see you two later!" And with that, he shoves Katniss and I together with glee and sprints off for the stage, where he subsequently begins to wail on the harmonica with such skill that my mouth falls open.

"Well…shall we?" says a nervous looking Katniss.

My cheeks color a little. "I'm a pretty terrible dancer," I say sheepishly.

"Well, I'm a pretty terrible friend. Guess we all have our strengths." She gives me a small, sideways grin and I feel as if my heart will actually jump out of my chest. Did Katniss just acknowledge that we are friends?

"Fair enough. Ok, let's do it. Just don't say I didn't warn you…"

We make it through the first song, and the second, and the third, and by the fourth, I imagine that the only thing that could be more wounded than her feet, is my pride.

"I'm so sorry," I repeat as I stomp on her foot for the fifteenth time tonight. "Do you want me to call an ambulance for the way home?"

Katniss smirks at me. "I've challenged a black bear for a honeycomb, I think I can handle a few bruises on my feet."

The band strikes up a new song, and to my relief, it's much slower. I think I recognize it from music class as an old mountain air, a love ballad. Katniss has got that faraway look in her eyes again, and I can tell she's remembering something from long ago.

"Dad used to sing this song for mother," she whispers sadly.

I squeeze her hand. "Do you want to sit down or something?"

"No!" she says, almost too quickly. "I mean, no. I'd like to keep dancing…if you want to."

I don't answer, just pull her in as closely as I dare and sway gently in time to the music. It is a slow, mournful tune where the plaintive voice of the violin takes center stage.

"Is your mother here?" I ask her softly.

I can feel her tense up in my arms. "No, she doesn't come out to dances anymore….doesn't really do much of anything anymore, actually."

"You're not like her you know," I tell her and her eyes suddenly leap up and hold my gaze. "I know that's what you're afraid of, but it won't happen to you. You're so strong."

"I have to be strong for Prim," she says fiercely.

"I know," I murmur.

We lapse into silence and out of the corner of my eye I notice Haymitch standing off to the side of the dance floor whispering to a group of miners including the barrel-chested man who danced with Katniss earlier. For some reason they keep glancing over at us surreptitiously. I subconsciously pull Katniss a little closer and when the dance takes us over to that side of the room, I listen hard for a snatch of their conversation.

"—Kid's got a silver tongue—could convince geese to fly north for winter—"

Why the hell is Haymitch talking about me?

"—And the girl with that bow and the sweet little sister—"

And now Katniss, too? I look down at her quickly to see if this makes her alarmed, but it's obvious she hasn't heard anything because her face looks serene, content. Am I making her feel that way? My brain quickly pushes Haymitch's conversation out of the way so that it can attend to more urgent matters—namely, the fact that Katniss Everdeen is in my arms and she actually seems happy to be there. I'm intoxicated by the smell of her hair, the feel of her hand brushing against the nape of my neck, the way she moves so quietly, so delicately, like a breeze through the meadow. Katniss gives an almost inaudible sigh and lays her head on my shoulder and I think my knees are going to give out. Surely this is bliss.

"Come on, I want to show you something," she says, taking my hand and weaving through the crowds towards the back of the barn. I follow Katniss into a dusty, secluded corner and when she tugs on a string attached to the wooden planks above our heads, a ladder folds down. We climb up and when we reach the top I realize that we must be in the hayloft. In front of us is a broad open window and the velvet, star-studded sky seems to stretch out forever. "I like to come here to think," says Katniss, turning around to face me. "Do you like it?"

"I would definitely do a lot more thinking if I had a place like this," I assure her. We settle down onto the straw-lined floor, me leaning up against a post and her reclining back into a pile of hay, hands behind her head.

"You haven't asked me your question yet today," she says lazily, stretching out her legs so that her feet hang out of the loft window.

I hesitate, twirling a piece of straw between my fingers pensively. "Well, I do have one question that I've wanted to ask for a long time…but I don't know if you're going to like it."

Katniss draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Hit me."

"What really happened to your father? I mean, the Peacekeepers tried to convince us it was some sort of explosion in the mines, but I never believed them." I hold my breath as I wait for her to respond—have I taken things too far?

"My father was a rebel," she says quietly. "He was for the desegregation of Panem—that's high treason in the Capitol's books. Mother begged him to let it go, to just be satisfied with our lot in life, but dad believed in the cause, you know? I think he wanted things to be better for Prim and me someday."

"He was a good man," I tell her.

"Yeah? And look where it got him!" she says bitterly. "They killed him for it and we were left with a shell of a mother who didn't even notice her kids were starv—" Katniss cuts herself off abruptly, flushing with shame.

I look at Katniss and realize that at just sixteen she's a warrior, not a teenager. What kind of sick world are we living in where twelve year old girls become heads of families, where children are digging through dumpsters for scraps of food, where life has knocked them down so many times that they don't know who to trust anymore. It makes me want to be a rebel, too.

"I wish I could do something like that to…to show the Capitol they don't own me," I burst out angrily. "That I'm more than just a piece in their game."

Katniss looks horrified. "Weren't you listening to anything I just said? That kind of talk gets people killed. I can't afford to think like that, and neither can you."

"Aren't you thinking like that already? I mean, you brought me here," I counter.

"You're right," she says, sitting up suddenly. "This is so selfish.

"No, it's not," I cut in fervently before she starts going overboard. "It's exactly the opposite of selfish. You saw that I was sad and you wanted to cheer me up because we're…friends, right? The fact that us being here together is like us thumbing our noses at the Capitol is just a bonus."

She's quiet for a moment and then she cocks her head at me. "How do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Come up with the right thing to say."

"Do I?" I ask, flustered.

She nods her head slowly in response. Somehow this emboldens me and I decide to ask what I've been itching to know for a long time now. "Can I ask you another question?"

Katniss nods again.

"Do you ever talk like this with Gale?"

She considers the question carefully and then says, "Not really, mostly we just hunt and keep our mouths shut. Gale and I are a lot alike."

Strong, stubborn, uncommunicative—I suppose they are a lot alike.

"I don't think he likes me very much," I confess.

"Oh, he'll come around. He just doesn't know if he can trust you, that's all," reasons Katniss.

"Do you trust me?" I ask with bated breath.

She sits up slowly and hugs her knees to her chest as if her being physically closed off will somehow protect her emotional vulnerability. "I'm not… good at trusting…"

I'm not going to let her wriggle out of this one so easily, "Come on, it's a simple question. Do you trust me: yes or no."

"Peeta, I—" she begins, but I reach up and take her chin in my hand gently, and her breath catches. Looking into her eyes I can see that there is a storm raging behind those placid silver pools. "Yes," she breathes and it is almost like a question. Her eyes flicker almost imperceptibly to my lips. "I trust you."

There must be mere centimeters between us, but it still feels like miles. Do I dare? Does she want me to? She smells of freshly laundered cotton and trees, and her lips look so soft, so tantalizingly soft…

There is a loud crash below and a chorus of startled screams, followed by confused shouting and a gunshot. Katniss has scrambled to her feet before I have even registered what is happening.

"It's Peacekeepers," she gasps, wringing her hands. "I have to find Prim!"

"I'll come with you," I say, wrenching open the trapdoor that leads down from the hayloft. The screaming is growing louder and I can hear the pounding of hundreds of pairs of feet running helter-skelter across the earthen floor of the barn.

"No!" she shouts, looking terrified. "They can't find you here, Peeta! It would only make things worse."

She reaches a trembling hand up to my face and just barely brushes my cheek. "I'll see you later, ok? I—I promise."

I know she's right, I can't follow her, but I also can't just stand here in the hayloft feeling impotent, cowardly. As soon as she has disappeared downstairs I rush over to the window and grab the hefty rope that is attached to the rafters. I imagine that when Katniss swings down this she looks like some sort of agile jungle goddess and realize that with my preternatural clumsiness I'll just be lucky if I don't break my neck. I take a deep breath and count to three before dropping over the edge of the loft and propelling down the side of the barn. Amazingly, I hit the ground without a scratch.

I scan the barn wall until I find a chink in the wood and press my eye up against it to see what's going on inside. There are at least twenty Peacekeepers decked out in full riot gear surrounding the frightened crowd, and Cray, the head Peacekeeper, is standing up on the stage where the band was just playing, a microphone in his hand.

"—There will be no more gatherings of Seam greater than five people. This law will take place immediately and violation is punishable by thirty lashes in the public square. According to the Panem Penal Code 27.3, any Seam citizens suspected of rebel activities, including but not limited to, the possession of illegal weapons, the propagation of anti-Capitol sentiments or literature, poaching on Capitol lands, and any other actions of a dubious insurgent nature, will be subject to harsh punitive measures, which may include death by public execution."

A hush falls over the crowd as Cray folds up the degree and places it in his breast pocket. The only sound that punctures the silence is the stifled cry of a frightened child. I catch sight of Katniss near the front of the stage, standing strong, with a scared looking Prim hugging her around the middle. She holds her head held aloft and stares ahead fearlessly as if she is staring down a pack of wild dogs. For some reason the way the light of the old-fashioned oil lanterns in the barn is flickering across her face and the hot blaze of defiance in her eyes makes Katniss look almost aflame, and I can tell immediately that she will not go down without a fight.

She is Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire.

Author's Note: Thanks for the great response on the last chapter! Reviews really help to focus and inspire me. This chapter is a bit lighter than the last...but the plot is thickening!