We Fight, We Dare, We

Tomorrow's A Hunting Day," I Say. "i Won't Be Much Of A Help With That," Peeta Says. "i've Never Hunted Before." "i'll Kill And You Cook," I Say. "and You Can Always Gather." "i Wish There Was Some Sort Of Bread Bush Out There," Says Peeta.

Time And Tragedy Have Forced Her To Grow Too Quickly, At Least For My Taste, Into A Young Woman Who Stitches Bleeding Wounds And Knows Our Mother Can Hear Only So Much.

Maybe I'll Be Like The Man In The Hanging Tree Still Waiting For An Answer.' Gale Who I Have Never Seen Cry Has Tears In His Eyes. To Keep Them From Spilling Over. I Reach Forward And Press My Lips Against His. We Taste Of Heat, Ashes And Misery.

All Those Months Of Taking It For Granted That Peeta Thought I Was Wonderful Are Over. Finally, He Can See Me For Who I Really Am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I Hate Him For It.

My Death Could, In Fact, Save Him. If It Can't, No Matter. It's Enough To Die Of Spite. To Punish Haymitch, Who, Of All The People In This Rotting World, Has Turned Peeta And Me Into Pieces In His Games. I Trusted Him. I Put What Was Precious In Haymitch's Hands. And He Has Betrayed Me.