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

stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.
Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open
my eyes that we’re into the afternoon. Peeta’s right beside me,
his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive
but better rested than I’ve been in days.
“Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of
hours,” I say.
“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides I like
watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a
lot.”
This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin.
That’s when I notice how dry his lips are. I test his cheek. Hot
as a coal stove. He claims he’s been drinking, but the containers
still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand
over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water.
Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings,
which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap
the leg.
My heart drops into my stomach. It’s worse, much worse.
There’s no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased
and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see the red
streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked,
it will kill him for sure. My chewed-up leaves and
ointment won’t make a dent in it. We’ll need strong antiinfection
drugs from the Capitol. I can’t imagine the cost of
such potent medicine. If Haymitch pooled every donation
from every sponsor, would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go
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