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sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares
me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash
oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst
of all, the smell of festering flesh.
I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that
day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt
while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the
skill nor the courage to face. But there’s no one here but me. I
try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when
handling particularly bad cases.
“Pretty awful, huh?” says Peeta. He’s watching me closely.
“So-so.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “You should see some of
the people they bring my mother from the mines.” I refrain
from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever
she’s treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I
don’t even much like to be around coughing. “First thing is to
clean it well.”
I’ve left on Peeta’s undershorts because they’re not in bad
shape and I don’t want to pull them over the swollen thigh
and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me
uncomfortable. That’s another thing about my mother and
Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause
for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my
little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot
my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of
him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound
looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just
one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat
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