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

I don’t watch, but I can hear the snarls, the growls, the
howls of pain from both human and beast as Cato takes on the
mutt pack. I can’t understand how he can be surviving until I
remember the body armor protecting him from ankle to neck
and I realize what a long night this could be. Cato must have a
knife or sword or something, too, something he had hidden in
his clothes, because on occasion there’s the death scream of a
mutt or the sound of metal on metal as the blade collides with
the golden horn. The combat moves around the side of the
Cornucopia, and I know Cato must be attempting the one maneuver
that could save his life — to make his way back around
to the tail of the horn and rejoin us. But in the end, despite his
remarkable strength and skill, he is simply overpowered.
I don’t know how long it has been, maybe an hour or so,
when Cato hits the ground and we hear the mutts dragging
him, dragging him back into the Cornucopia. Now they’ll finish
him off, I think. But there’s still no cannon.
Night falls and the anthem plays and there’s no picture of
Cato in the sky, only the faint moans coming through the metal
beneath us. The icy air blowing across the plain reminds me
that the Games are not over and may not be for who knows
how long, and there is still no guarantee of victory.
I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding
as badly as ever. All our supplies, our packs, remain down by
the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the
mutts. I have no bandage, nothing to staunch the flow of blood
from his calf. Although I’m shaking in the biting wind, I rip off
my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as
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