Huge and looming. A hand on her back. Hands on her. A blow to the head.
Clove tries to make the gasp at the memories sound like just a breath. And she holds stubbornly to the conversation. She won't-- can't-- think about the District Eleven male tribute.]
Cato was a year older than me, and, at dinner, the boys always went through the line first. Sometimes we had a choice, different kinds of food that, as long as he met our requirements for the meal, we could have our pick of.
Cato... would always grab an extra apple. Because those went fast, and I love them.
We'd hang out after hours-- sneak out of the dorms. Just spend time on the grounds. And when he could, he always had the apple for me.
[The story can't do either of them any harm now. The Reaping and Games are in the past. She and Cato both died and not because of sentiment or friendship or anything like that. Her death might have been humiliating, but it hadn't been because she'd been weak against him.
[Voice]
Huge and looming. A hand on her back. Hands on her. A blow to the head.
Clove tries to make the gasp at the memories sound like just a breath. And she holds stubbornly to the conversation. She won't-- can't-- think about the District Eleven male tribute.]
Cato was a year older than me, and, at dinner, the boys always went through the line first. Sometimes we had a choice, different kinds of food that, as long as he met our requirements for the meal, we could have our pick of.
Cato... would always grab an extra apple. Because those went fast, and I love them.
We'd hang out after hours-- sneak out of the dorms. Just spend time on the grounds. And when he could, he always had the apple for me.
[The story can't do either of them any harm now. The Reaping and Games are in the past. She and Cato both died and not because of sentiment or friendship or anything like that. Her death might have been humiliating, but it hadn't been because she'd been weak against him.
That was one consolation.]