Peeta Bakes. I Hunt. Haymitch Drinks Until

My Little Sister, Prim, Curled Up On Her Side, Cocooned In My Mother’s Body, Their Cheeks Pressed Together. In Sleep, My Mother Looks Younger, Still Worn But Not So Beaten-down. Prim’s Face Is As Fresh As A Raindrop, As Lovely As The Primrose For Which She Was Named. My Mother Was Very Beautiful Once, Too. Or So They Tell Me.

Here, Cover Yourself With This And I'll Wash Your Shorts." "oh, I Don't Care If You See Me," Says Peeta.

Don't You See, Katniss, This Will Decide Things. One Way Or The Other. By The End Of The Day, They'll Ether Be Dead Or With Us. It's...it's More Than We Could Hope For! Well, That's A Sunny View Of Our Situation.

So, What Do You Think They'll Do To Him?" I Ask. Prim Sounds About A Thousand Years Old When She Speaks. "whatever It Takes To Break You.

It Is A Perfect Weapon