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

I bite my lip. Rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the
Meadow. Rue. Primrose. Neither of them could tip the scale at
seventy pounds soaking wet.
“What can we do about it?” I ask him, more harshly than I
intended.
“Nothing to do,” he says back. “Just making conversation.”
Now that I know she’s there, it’s hard to ignore the child.
She slips up and joins us at different stations. Like me, she’s
clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. She can
hit the target every time with a slingshot. But what is a slingshot
against a 220-pound male with a sword?
Back on the District 12 floor, Haymitch and Effie grill us
throughout breakfast and dinner about every moment of the
day. What we did, who watched us, how the other tributes size
up. Cinna and Portia aren’t around, so there’s no one to add
any sanity to the meals. Not that Haymitch and Effie are fighting
anymore. Instead they seem to be of one mind, determined
to whip us into shape. Full of endless directions about what
we should do and not do in training. Peeta is more patient, but
I become fed up and surly.
When we finally escape to bed on the second night, Peeta
mumbles, “Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.”
I make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a
laugh. Then catch myself. It’s messing with my mind too much,
trying to keep straight when we’re supposedly friends and
when we’re not. At least when we get into the arena, I’ll know
where we stand. “Don’t. Don’t let’s pretend when there’s no
one around.”
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