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

minal one. “I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a
small child.
“You will. I promise,” he says, and bends over to give me a
kiss.
“I want to go home now,” I say.
“Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home.
And you’ll be there for real before you know it,” lie says.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Wake me if you need me to keep watch.”
“I’m good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides,
who knows how long this will last?” he says.
What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite ii brings
us? The Games themselves? I don’t know, but I’m ion sad and
tired to ask.
It’s evening when Peeta wakes me again. The rain has
turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our
ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Peeta has
placed the broth pot under the worst one and repositioned the
plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to
sit up without getting too dizzy, and I’m absolutely famished.
So is Peeta. It’s clear he’s been waiting for me to wake up to
eat and is eager to get started.
There’s not much left. Two pieces of groosling, a small
mishmash of roots, and a handful of dried fruit.
“Should we try and ration it?” Peeta asks.
“No, let’s just finish it. The groosling’s getting old anyway,
and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoilt food,” I say,
dividing the food into two equal piles. We try and eat slowly,
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