I Know He Was Desperate. That Makes

Because It Doesn't Matter Anymore, And Because I'm So Desperately Lonely I Can't Stand It.

Peeta, How Come I Never Know When You're Having A Nightmare?” I Say. “i Don't Know. I Don't Think I Cry Out Or Thrash Around Or Anything. I Just Come To, Paralyzed With Terror,” He Says. “you Should Wake Me,” I Say, Thinking About How I Can Interrupt His Sleep Two Or Three Times On A Bad Night. About How Long It Can Take To Calm Me Down. “it's Not Necessary. My Nightmares Are Usually About Losing You,” He Says. “i'm Okay Once I Realize You're Here.

On And On We Seal The Pages With Salt Water And Promises To Live Well To Make Their Deaths Count.

Of Course You Are. The Tributes Were Necessary To The Games, Too. Until They Weren't," I Say. "and Then We Were Very Disposable - Right, Plutarch?

We Fight, We Dare, We End Our Hunger For Justice.