Winning The Games Will Make

Here Began Countless Days Of Hunting And Snaring, Fishing And Gathering, Roaming Together Through The Woods, Unloading Our Thoughts While We Filled Our Game Bags. This Was The Doorway To Both Sustenance And Sanity. And We Were Each Other's Key.

Trapped For Days, Years, Centuries Maybe. Dead, But Not Allowed To Die. Alive, But As Good As Dead. So Alone That Anyone, Anything No Matter How Loathsome Would Be Welcome.

Let Me Go!” I Snarl At Him, Trying To Wrest My Arm From His Grasp. “i Can’t,” He Says.

And Then There Was Tick. Brave Little Tick, Who Had Flown Into The Faces Of An Army Of Rats To Save His Baby Sister. Tick - Who Never Spoke Much. Tick - Who Shared Her Food. Tick - Who Was After All Just A Roach. Just A Roach Who Had Given All The Time She Had Left So That Boots Could Have More. Gregor Pressed Boots's Fingers Against His Lips And Felt Scalding Tears Begin To Slide Down His Cheeks. He Hadn't Cried, Not The Whole Time He'd Been Down Here, And There Had Been Plenty Of Bad Stuff. But Somehow Tick's Sacrifice Had Crushed Whatever Thin Shell Remained Between Him And Sorrow.

Peeta?" I Creep Along The Bank. "well, Don't Step On Me.