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

and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his
eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky.
“There won’t be anything to see tonight,” I say, far more interested
in the stew than the sky. “Nothing’s happened or we
would’ve heard a cannon.”
“Katniss,” Peeta says quietly.
“What? Should we split another roll, too?” I ask.
“Katniss,” he repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore
him.
“I’m going to split one. But I’ll save the cheese for tomorrow,”
I say. I see Peeta staring at me. “What?”
“Thresh is dead,” says Peeta.
“He can’t be,” I say.
“They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and
we missed it,” says Peeta.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s pouring buckets out there. I
don’t know how you can see anything,” I say. I push him away
from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For
about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glimpse of Thresh’s picture
and then he’s gone. Just like that.
I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting
about the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right?
One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I’m not
happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me
run because of Rue, who died with that spear in her stomach. .
. .
“You all right?” asks Peeta.
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