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

they head straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the
gym and handle them with ease.
I’m thinking that it’s lucky I’m a fast runner when Peeta
nudges my arm and I jump. He is still beside me, per Haymitch’s
instructions. His expression is sober. “Where would
you like to start?”
I look around at the Career Tributes who are showing off,
clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the
underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons
with a knife or an ax.
“Suppose we tie some knots,” I say.
“Right you are,” says Peeta. We cross to an empty station
where the trainer seems pleased to have students. You get the
feeling that the knot-tying class is not the Hunger games hot
spot. When he realizes I know something about snares, he
shows us a simple, excellent trap that will leave a human
competitor dangling by a leg from a tree. We concentrate on
this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it.
Then we move on to camouflage. Peeta genuinely seems to enjoy
this station, swirling a combination of mud and clay and
berry juices around on his pale skin, weaving disguises from
vines and leaves. The trainer who runs the camouflage station
is full of enthusiasm at his work.
“I do the cakes,” he admits to me.
“The cakes?” I ask. I’ve been preoccupied with watching the
boy from District 2 send a spear through a dummy’s heart
from fifteen yards. “What cakes?”
“At home. The iced ones, for the bakery,” he says.
95