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

oth been roasted already so they mostly need to be heated
up. Already, between the sunlight and the rocks, the water’s
warm. I put in the meat and roots, swap in fresh rocks, and go
find something green to spice it up a little. Before long, I discover
a tuft of chives growing at the base of some rocks. Perfect.
I chop them very fine and add them to the pot, switch out
the rocks again, put on the lid, and let the whole thing stew.
I’ve seen very few signs of game around, but I don’t feel
comfortable leaving Peeta alone while I hunt, so I rig half a
dozen snares and hope I get lucky. I wonder about the other
tributes, how they’re managing now that their main source of
food has been blown up. At least three of them, Cato, Clove,
and Foxface, had been relying on it. Probably not Thresh
though. I’ve got a feeling he must share some of Rue’s knowledge
on how to feed yourself from the earth. Are they fighting
each other? Looking for us? Maybe one of them has located us
and is just waiting for the right moment to attack. The idea
sends me back to the cave.
Peeta’s stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the
shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come
in, it’s clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head,
but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.
“Do you want anything?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Thank you. Wait, yes. Tell me a story.”
“A story? What about?” I say. I’m not much for storytelling.
It’s kind of like singing. But once in a while, Prim wheedles
one out of me.
263