Because I Can Count On

Something Flickers Across His Bloodshot Eyes. Pain.

Even Though I Don't Ask, Plutarch Gives Me Cheerful Updates On The Phone Like "good News, Katniss! I Think We've Almost Got Him Convinced You're Not A Mutt!" Or "today He Was Allowed To Feed Himself Pudding!

There's No Point In Comforting Words, In Telling Her She'll Be All Right. She's No Fool. Her Hand Reaches Out And I Clutch It Like A Lifeline. As If It's Me Who's Dying Instead Of Rue.

But Once I Saw Fulvia Cardew Crumple Up A Sheet Of Paper With Just A Couple Of Words Written On It And You Would’ve Thought She’d Murdered Someone From The Looks She Got.

You Could Do A Lot Worse.