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

places. I don’t try anything tricky, like taking a new route. I
make my way back up the stream and follow the same path
back to Rue’s hiding place near the lake. Along the way, I see
no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of
a branch. Either I’m the first to arrive or the others positioned
themselves last night. There’s still more than an hour, maybe
two, when I wriggle into the underbrush and wait for the
blood to begin to flow.
I chew a few mint leaves, my stomach isn’t up for much
more. Thank goodness, I have Peeta’s jacket as well as my
own. If not, I’d be forced to move around to stay warm. The
sky turns a misty morning gray and still there’s no sign of the
other tributes. It’s not surprising really. Everyone has distinguished
themselves either by strength or deadliness or cunning.
Do they suppose, I wonder, that I have Peeta with me? I
doubt Foxface and Thresh even know he was wounded. All the
better if they think he’s covering me when I go in for the
backpack.
But where is it? The arena has lightened enough for me to
remove my glasses. I can hear the morning birds singing. Isn’t
it time? For a second, I’m panicked that I’m at the wrong location.
But no, I’m certain I remember Claudius Templesmith
specifying the Cornucopia. And there it is. And here I am. So
where’s my feast?
Just as the first ray of sun glints off the gold Cornucopia,
there’s a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the
mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a
snowy white cloth rises into the arena. On the table sit four
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