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- Сюзанна Коллинз
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- Стр. 95/236
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The
woods
begin
to
evolve
,
and
the
pines
are
intermixed
with
a
variety
of
trees
,
some
I
recognize
,
some
completely
foreign
to
me
.
At
one
point
,
I
hear
a
noise
and
pull
my
knife
,
thinking
I
may
have
to
defend
myself
,
but
I
've
only
startled
a
rabbit
.
"
Good
to
see
you
,
"
I
whisper
.
If
there
's
one
rabbit
,
there
could
be
hundreds
just
waiting
to
be
snared
.
The
ground
slopes
down
.
I
do
n't
particularly
like
this
.
Valleys
make
me
feel
trapped
.
I
want
to
be
high
,
like
in
the
hills
around
District
12
,
where
I
can
see
my
enemies
approaching
.
But
I
have
no
choice
but
to
keep
going
.
Funny
though
,
I
do
n't
feel
too
bad
.
The
days
of
gorging
myself
have
paid
off
.
I
've
got
staying
power
even
though
I
'm
short
on
sleep
.
Being
in
the
woods
is
rejuvenating
.
I
'm
glad
for
the
solitude
,
even
though
it
's
an
illusion
,
because
I
'm
probably
on-screen
right
now
.
Not
consistently
but
off
and
on
.
There
are
so
many
deaths
to
show
the
first
day
that
a
tribute
trekking
through
the
woods
is
n't
much
to
look
at
.
But
they
'll
show
me
enough
to
let
people
know
I
'm
alive
,
uninjured
and
on
the
move
.
One
of
the
heaviest
days
of
betting
is
the
opening
,
when
the
initial
casualties
come
in
.
But
that
ca
n't
compare
to
what
happens
as
the
field
shrinks
to
a
handful
of
players
.
It
's
late
afternoon
when
I
begin
to
hear
the
cannons
.
Each
shot
represents
a
dead
tribute
.
The
fighting
must
have
finally
stopped
at
the
Cornucopia
.
They
never
collect
the
bloodbath
bodies
until
the
killers
have
dispersed
.
On
the
opening
day
,
they
do
n't
even
fire
the
cannons
until
the
initial
fighting
's
over
because
it
's
too
hard
to
keep
track
of
the
fatalities
.
I
allow
myself
to
pause
,
panting
,
as
I
count
the
shots
.
One
.
two
.
three
.
on
and
on
until
they
reach
eleven
.
Eleven
dead
in
all
.
Thirteen
left
to
play
.
My
fingernails
scrape
at
the
dried
blood
the
boy
from
District
9
coughed
into
my
face
.
He
's
gone
,
certainly
.
I
wonder
about
Peeta
.
Has
he
lasted
through
the
day
?
I
'll
know
in
a
few
hours
.
When
they
project
the
dead
's
images
into
the
sky
for
the
rest
of
us
to
see
.
All
of
a
sudden
,
I
'm
overwhelmed
by
the
thought
that
Peeta
may
be
already
lost
,
bled
white
,
collected
,
and
in
the
process
of
being
transported
back
to
the
Capitol
to
be
cleaned
up
,
redressed
,
and
shipped
in
a
simple
wooden
box
back
to
District
12
.
No
longer
here
.
Heading
home
.
I
try
hard
to
remember
if
I
saw
him
once
the
action
started
.
But
the
last
image
I
can
conjure
up
is
Peeta
shaking
his
head
as
the
gong
rang
out
.
Maybe
it
's
better
,
if
he
's
gone
already
.
He
had
no
confidence
he
could
win
.
And
I
will
not
end
up
with
the
unpleasant
task
of
killing
him
.
Maybe
it
's
better
if
he
's
out
of
this
for
good
.
I
slump
down
next
to
my
pack
,
exhausted
.
I
need
to
go
through
it
anyway
before
night
falls
.
See
what
I
have
to
work
with
.
As
I
unhook
the
straps
,
I
can
feel
it
's
sturdily
made
although
a
rather
unfortunate
color
.
This
orange
will
practically
glow
in
the
dark
.
I
make
a
mental
note
to
camouflage
it
first
thing
tomorrow
.
I
flip
open
the
flap
.
What
I
want
most
,
right
at
this
moment
,
is
water
.
Haymitch
's
directive
to
immediately
find
water
was
not
arbitrary
.
I
wo
n't
last
long
without
it
.
For
a
few
days
,
I
'll
be
able
to
function
with
unpleasant
symptoms
of
dehydration
,
but
after
that
I
'll
deteriorate
into
helplessness
and
be
dead
in
a
week
,
tops
.
I
carefully
lay
out
the
provisions
.
One
thin
black
sleeping
bag
that
reflects
body
heal
.
A
pack
of
crackers
.
A
pack
of
dried
beef
strips
.
A
bottle
of
iodine
.
A
box
of
wooden
matches
.
A
small
coil
of
wire
.
A
pair
of
sunglasses
.
And
a
half-gallon
plastic
bottle
with
a
cap
for
carrying
water
that
's
bone
dry
.
