The baker sits awkwardly on the edge of one of the plush

chairs. He’s a big, broad-shouldered man with burn scars from

years at the ovens. He must have just said goodbye to his son.

He pulls a white paper package from his jacket pocket and

holds it out to me. I open it and find cookies. These are a 

luxury we can never afford.

“Thank you,” I say. The baker’s not a very talkative man in

the best of times, and today he has no words at all. “I had

some of your bread this morning. My friend Gale gave you a

squirrel for it.” He nods, as if remembering the squirrel. “Not

your best trade,” I say. He shrugs as if it couldn’t possibly 

matter.Then I can’t think of anything else, so we sit in silence 

until a Peacemaker summons him. He rises and coughs to clear 

his throat. 

“I’ll keep an eye on the little girl. Make sure she’s eating.”

I feel some of the pressure in my chest lighten at his words.

People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim.

Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.

My next guest is also unexpected. Madge walks straight to

me. She is not weepy or evasive, instead there’s an urgency

about her tone that surprises me. “They let you wear one

thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you

of home. Will you wear this?” She holds out the circular gold

pin that was on her dress earlier. I hadn’t paid much attention

to it before, but now I see it’s a small bird in flight.

“Your pin?” I say. Wearing a token from my district is about

the last thing on my mind.

“Here, I’ll put it on your dress, all right?” Madge doesn’t

wait for an answer, she just leans in and fixes the bird to my

dress. 

“Promise you’ll wear it into the arena, Katniss?” she

asks. “Promise?”

“Yes,” I say. Cookies. A pin. I’m getting all kinds of gifts today.

Madge gives me one more. A kiss on the cheek. Then she’s

gone and I’m left thinking that maybe Madge really has been

my friend all along. Finally, Gale is here and maybe there is 

nothing romantic between us, but when he opens his arms I 

don’t hesitate to go into them. His body is familiar to me — 

the way it moves, the smell of wood smoke, even the sound 

of his heart beating I know from quiet moments on a hunt — 

but this is the first time I really feel it, lean and hard-muscled 

against my own.

“Listen,” he says. “Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but

you’ve got to get your hands on a bow. That’s your best

chance.”

“They don’t always have bows,” I say, thinking of the year

there were only horrible spiked maces that the tributes had to

bludgeon one another to death with.

“Then make one,” says Gale. “Even a weak bow is better

than no bow at all.”

I have tried copying my father’s bows with poor results. It’s

not that easy. Even he had to scrap his own work sometimes.

“I don’t even know if there’ll be wood,” I say. Another year,

they tossed everybody into a landscape of nothing but 

boulders and sand and scruffy bushes. I particularly hated 

that year.Many contestants were bitten by venomous snakes 

or went insane from thirst.

“There’s almost always some wood,” Gale says. “Since that

year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in

that.”

It’s true. We spent one Hunger Games watching the players

freeze to death at night. You could hardly see them because

they were just huddled in balls and had no wood for fires or

torches or anything. It was considered very anti-climactic in

the Capitol, all those quiet, bloodless deaths. Since then,

there’s usually been wood to make fires.

“Yes, there’s usually some,” I say.

“Katniss, it’s just hunting. You’re the best hunter I know,”

says Gale.

“It’s not just hunting. They’re armed. They think,” I say.

“So do you. And you’ve had more practice. Real practice,”

he says. “You know how to kill.”

“Not people,” I say.

“How different can it be, really?” says Gale grimly.

The awful thing is that if I can forget they’re people, it will

be no different at all.

The Peacekeepers are back too soon and Gale asks for more

time, but they’re taking him away and I start to panic. “Don’t

let them starve!” I cry out, clinging to his hand.

“I won’t! You know I won’t! Katniss, remember I —” he

says, and they yank us apart and slam the door and I’ll never

know what it was he wanted me to remember.

It’s a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station.

I’ve never been in a car before. Rarely even ridden in wagons.

In the Seam, we travel on foot.