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

Surprisingly, he just laughs. “Look, I can handle Cato. I
fought him before, didn’t I?”
Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a
mud bank. That’s what I want to say, but I can’t. He did save
my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. “What if
you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I
hunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important
work.
“What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get
us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. “Just don’t go far,
in case you need help.”
I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no
question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of
a plum won’t last long. I’ll just go a short distance and hope
Cato is a long way off.
I teach him a bird whistle — not a melody like Rue’s but a
simple two-note whistle — which we can use to communicate
that we’re all right. Fortunately, he’s good at this. Leaving him
with the pack, I head off.
I feel like I’m eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the
fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards
of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come
alive with animal sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I
allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits
and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it’s enough. I can set
snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta’s roots, this will
be enough for now.
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