Peeta?" I Creep Along The Bank. "well,

Since Mags Seems To Have No Ill Effects From The Nuts, Peeta Collects Bunches Of Them And Fries Them By Bouncing Them Off The Force Field.

Then Octavia Drops To Her Knees, Rubs The Hem Of A Skirt Against Her Cheek, And Burst Into Tears. "it's Been So Long," She Gasps, "since I've Seen Anything Pretty.

I Wish They Were All Dead And We Were, Too. It Would Be Best." Well, There's No Good Response To That. I Can Hardly Dispute It Since I Was Walking Around With A Syringe To Kill Peeta When I Found Them. Do I Really Want Him Dead? What I Want...what I Want Is To Have Him Back.

I Can Almost Hear Haymitch Groaning As I Team Up With This Wispy Child. But I Want Her. Because She's A Survivor, And I Trust Her, And Why Not Admit It? She Reminds Me Of Prim.

I Carefully Lay Out The Provisions. One Thin Black Sleeping Bag That Reflects Body Heat. 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. No Water. How Hard Would It Have Been For Them To Fill Up The Bottle?