Mostly We Just Add To

Remember That Even In War There Is A Time For Restraint. A Time To Hold Back Your Sword.

It’s The Final Word In Camouflage. Forget Chucking Weights Around. Peeta Should Have Gone Into His Private Session With The Gamemakers And Painted Himself Into A Tree. Or A Boulder. Or A Muddy Bank Full Of Weeds.

It's A Long Shot, It's Suicide Maybe, But I Do The Only Thing I Can Think Of. I Lean In And Kiss Peeta Full On The Mouth. His Whole Body Starts Shuddering, But I Keep My Lips Pressed To His Until I Have To Come Up For Air. My Hands Slide Up His Wrists To Clasp His. "don't Let Him Take You From Me." Peeta's Panting Hard As He Fights The Nightmares Raging His Head. "no. I Don't Want To. . ." I Clench His Hands To The Point Of Pain. "stay With Me." His Pupils Contract To Pinpoints, Dilate Again Rapidly, And Then Return To Something Resembling Normalcy. "always," He Murmurs.

I Mean I Know It's Cold Out Here And Not Everybody Has A Sleeping Bag. But When You Grit Your Teeth And Stick It Out Until Dawn!

Shame Isn't A Strong Enough Word For What I Feel. "you Could Live A Hundred Lifetimes And Not Deserve Him, You Know," Haymitch Says.