Голодные игры

           It’scomefromtheleft,soIcan’tpickitupverywell.Andthevoicewashoarseandweak.Still,itmusthavebeenPeeta.Whoelseinthearenawouldcallmesweetheart?Myeyesperusethebank,butthere’snothing.Justmud,theplants,thebaseoftherocks.

           "Peeta?"Iwhisper."Whereareyou?"There’snoanswer.CouldIjusthaveimaginedit?No,I’mcertainitwasrealandverycloseathand,too."Peeta?"Icreepalongthebank.

           "Well,don’tsteponme."

           Ijumpback.Hisvoicewasrightundermyfeet.Stillthere’snothing.Thenhiseyesopen,unmistakablyblueinthebrownmudandgreenleaves.Igaspandamrewardedwithahintofwhiteteethashelaughs.

           It’sthefinalwordincamouflage.Forgetchuckingweightsaround.PeetashouldhavegoneintohisprivatesessionwiththeGamemakersandpaintedhimselfintoatree.Oraboulder.Oramuddybankfullofweeds.

           "Closeyoureyesagain,"Iorder.Hedoes,andhismouth,too,andcompletelydisappears.MostofwhatIjudgetobehisbodyisactuallyunderalayerofmudandplants.Hisfaceandarmsaresoartfullydisguisedastobeinvisible.Ikneelbesidehim."Iguessallthosehoursdecoratingcakespaidoff."

           Peetasmiles."Yes,frosting.Thefinaldefenseofthedying."

           "You’renotgoingtodie,"Itellhimfirmly."Sayswho?"Hisvoiceissoragged."Saysme.We’reonthesameteamnow,youknow,"Itellhim.

           Hiseyesopen."So,Iheard.Niceofyoutofindwhat’sleftofme."

           Ipulloutmywaterbottleandgivehimadrink."DidCatocutyou?"Iask.

           "Leftleg.