You Could Do A Lot Worse.

Just Last Year I Wanted To Kill Him, But Now It Is My Duty To Save Him.

But In School I Remember Hearing That For The Second Quarter Quell, The Capitol Demanded That Twice The Number Of Tributes Be Provided For The Arena. The Teachers Didn't Go Into Much More Detail, Which Is Surprising, Because That Was The Year District 12's Very Own Haymitch Abernathy Won The Crown.

One More Time? For The Audience?" He Says. His Voice Isn't Angry. It's Hollow, Which Is Worse. Already The Boy With The Bread Is Slipping Away From Me. I Take His Hand, Holding On Tightly, Preparing For The Cameras, And Dreading The Moment When I Will Finally Have To Let Go.

I Pull The Sleeping Bag Up To His Chin And Kiss His Forehead, Not For The Audience, But For Me. Because I'm So Grateful That He's Here, Not Dead By The Stream As I'd Thought. So Glad I Don't Have To Face Cato Alone.

Someone Ought To Get Haymitch A Drink.