suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

hand. What can it be? Not food surely. I unscrew the lid and I
know by the scent that it’s medicine. Cautiously, I probe the
surface of the ointment. The throbbing in my fingertip vanishes.
“Oh, Haymitch,” I whisper. “Thank you.” He has not abandoned
me. Not left me to fend entirely for myself. The cost of
this medicine must be astronomical. Probably not one but
many sponsors have contributed to buy this one tiny pot. To
me, it is priceless.
I dip two fingers in the jar and gently spread the balm over
my calf. The effect is almost magical, erasing the pain on contact,
leaving a pleasant cooling sensation behind. This is no
herbal concoction that my mother grinds up out of woodland
plants, it’s high-tech medicine brewed up in the Capitol’s labs.
When my calf is treated, I rub a thin layer into my hands. After
wrapping the pot in the parachute, I nestle it safely away in
my pack. Now that the pain has eased, it’s all I can do to reposition
myself in my bag before I plunge into sleep.
A bird perched just a few feet from me alerts me that a new
day is dawning. In the gray morning light, I examine my hands.
The medicine has transformed all the angry red patches to a
soft baby-skin pink. My leg still feels inflamed, but that burn
was far deeper. I apply another coat of medicine and quietly
pack up my gear. Whatever happens, I’m going to have to
move and move fast. I also make myself eat a cracker and a
strip of beef and drink a few cups of water.
Almost nothing stayed in my stomach yesterday, and I’m
already starting to feel the effects of hunger.
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