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nnaturally hot his lips are from the fever。 I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him。 ¨Youˇre not going to die。 I forbid it。 All right?〃
¨All right;〃 he whispers。
I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky。 My fingers quickly undo the tie; hoping for some real medicine to treat Peetaˇs leg。 Instead I find a pot of hot broth。
Haymitch couldnˇt be sending me a clearer message。 One kiss equals one pot of broth。 I can almost hear his snarl。 ¨Youˇre supposed to be in love; sweetheart。 The boyˇs dying。 Give me something I can work with!〃
And heˇs right。 If I want to keep Peeta alive; Iˇve got to give the audience something more to care about。 Star…crossed lovers desperate to get home together。 Two hearts beating as one。 Romance。
Never having been in love; this is going to be a real trick。 I think of my parents。 The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods。 The way my motherˇs face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door。 The way she almost stopped living when he died。
¨Peeta!〃 I say; trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father。 Heˇs dozed off again; but I kiss him awake; which seems to startle him。 Then he smiles as if heˇd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever。 Heˇs great at this stuff。
I hold up the pot。 ¨Peeta; look what Haymitch has sent you。〃
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Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing; begging; threatening; and yes; kissing; but finally; sip by sip; he empties the pot。 I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs; wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky。 No new casualties。 Still; Peeta and I have given the audi
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