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

Leaving the cave has a sense of finality about it. I don’t
think there will be another night in the arena somehow. One
way or the other, dead or alive, I have the feeling I’ll escape it
today. I give the rocks a pat good-bye and we head down to
the stream to wash up. I can feel my skin, itching for the cool
water. I may do my hair and braid it back wet. I’m wondering
if we might even be able to give our clothes a quick scrub
when we reach the stream. Or what used to be the stream.
Now there’s only a bone-dry bed. I put my hand down to feel
it.
“Not even a little damp. They must have drained it while we
slept,” I say. A fear of the cracked tongue, aching body and
fuzzy mind brought on by my previous dehydration creeps into
my consciousness. Our bottles and skin are fairly full, but
with two drinking and this hot sun it won’t take long to deplete
them.
“The lake,” says Peeta. “That’s where they want us to go.”
“Maybe the ponds still have some,” I say hopefully.
“We can check,” he says, but he’s just humoring me. I’m
humoring myself because I know what I’ll find when we return
to the pond where I soaked my leg. A dusty, gaping
mouth of a hole. But we make the trip anyway just to confirm
what we already know.
“You’re right. They’re driving us to the lake,” I say. Where
there’s no cover. Where they’re guaranteed a bloody fight to
the death with nothing to block their view. “Do you want to go
straightaway or wait until the water’s tapped out?”
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