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mud would definitely help. Of course, to have mud, I’d need
water . . .
I pull on my gear, grab my spit, kick some dirt over the
coals, and take off in the opposite direction the Careers went. I
eat half the rabbit as I go, then wrap up the leftovers in my
plastic for later. The meat stops the grumbling in my stomach
but does little to quench my thirst. Water is my top priority
now.
As I hike along, I feel certain I’m still holding the screen in
the Capitol, so I’m careful to continue to hide my emotions.
But what a good time Claudius Templesmith must be having
with his guest commentators, dissecting Peeta’s behavior, my
reaction. What to make of it all? Has Peeta revealed his true
colors? How does this affect the betting odds? Will we lose
sponsors? Do we even have sponsors? Yes, I feel certain we
do, or at least did.
Certainly Peeta has thrown a wrench into our star-crossed
lover dynamic. Or has he? Maybe, since he hasn’t spoken much
about me, we can still get some mileage out of it. Maybe
people will think it’s something we plotted together if I seem
like it amuses me now.
The sun rises in the sky and even through the canopy it
seems overly bright. I coat my lips in some grease from the
rabbit and try to keep from panting, but it’s no use. It’s only
been a day and I’m dehydrating fast. I try and think of everything
I know about finding water. It runs downhill, so, in fact,
continuing down into this valley isn’t a bad thing. If I could
just locate a game trail or spot a particularly green patch of
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