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ing. Even with the money divided in two, neither Gale nor I
had held so much at one time in our lives. We decided to keep
it a secret and surprise our families with the meat and money
at the end of the next day.
This is where I really got the money for the goat, but I tell
Peeta I sold an old silver locket of my mother’s. That can’t hurt
anyone. Then I pick up the story in the late afternoon of Prim’s
birthday.
Gale and I went to the market on the square so that I could
buy dress materials. As I was running my fingers over a length
of thick blue cotton cloth, something caught my eye. There’s
an old man who keeps a small herd of goats on the other side
of the Seam. I don’t know his real name, everyone just calls
him the Goat Man. His joints are swollen and twisted in painful
angles, and he’s got a hacking cough that proves he spent
years in the mines. But he’s lucky. Somewhere along the way
he saved up enough for these goats and now has something to
do in his old age besides slowly starve to death. He’s filthy and
impatient, but the goats are clean and their milk is rich if you
can afford it.
One of the goats, a white one with black patches, was lying
down in a cart. It was easy to see why. Something, probably a
dog, had mauled her shoulder and infection had set in. It was
bad, the Goat Man had to hold her up to milk her. But I
thought I knew someone who could fix it.
“Gale,” I whispered. “I want that goat for Prim.”
Owning a nanny goat can change your life in District 12.
The animals can live off almost anything, the Meadow’s a per-
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