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

My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I
hear a voice.
“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”
I whip around. It’s come from the left, so I can’t pick it up
very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must
have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart?
My eyes peruse the bank, but there’s nothing. Just
mud, the plants, the base of the rocks.
“Peeta?” I whisper. “Where are you?” There’s no answer.
Could I just have imagined it? No, I’m certain it was real and
very close at hand, too. “Peeta?” I creep along the bank.
“Well, don’t step on me.”
I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there’s
nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown
mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of
white teeth as he laughs.
It’s the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights
around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with
the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder.
Or a muddy bank full of weeds.
“Close your eyes again,” I order. He does, and his mouth,
too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his
body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and
arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside
him. “I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.”
Peeta smiles. “Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”
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