You would have thought that after all the care she put into it, it would have improved. But it didn't.
Her face goes completely pale at the sight of my leg. Mine does too. The pus is gone, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. That's not so bad… but the red streaks starting to crawl up my leg are. Blood poisoning.
"Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," she says in an unsteady voice.
"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I say calmly. "Even if my mother wasn't a healer."
"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the capital when we win."
That would be a great plan…if blood poisoning worked that way.
"Yes, that's a good plan," I say mostly for her benefit. I know that I won't make it. I always knew that one way or the other I wouldn't make it back alive.
"You have to eat," she says sounding like a scolding mother. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."
"Don't light a fire," I say. "It's not worth it." I'm not worth it. Specially now.
"We'll see," she says. She grabs the pot and heads out.
"Ahh," I let a moan escape. The pain is so great that I'm impressed I've been able to talk to Katniss without screaming. But I can't let her see how much pain I'm in. She's already doing so much – has such a heavy burden to carry – if she knew how much pain I'm really in, it would just be that much worse for her. And I don't want her suffering with me. She might not show it, but I know she's a vulnerable person, and my pain would hurt her, too.
I take advantage of her absence and let myself crumble to pieces for just a moment… well almost; I can't exactly scream right now. Instead, I let a few tears of pain escape as I burry my face in my hands. I take a deep breath – which comes out sounding more like a gasp – trying to steady myself before Katniss returns.
Just in time, too; Katniss comes back sooner than I thought she would. I smile up at her, but she frowns in return. I guess my face wasn't as composed as I thought. She puts wet clothes in my forehead, but they warm up so fast they can't be doing any good.
"Do you want anything," she asks.
"No, thank you," I automatically answer but then something pops into my head. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story." I need to distract my mind from the pain.
"A story? What about?" she asks in a wary tone.
"Something happy. Tell me the happiest day you can remember."
She sighs in exasperation. I can tell she's racking her brain, searching for a happy memory.
"Did I ever tell you how I got prim's Goat?" she asks and a smile lights her face.
I shake my head and look at her expectantly. She remains silent for a minute; probably trying to figure out where to start.
So she told me how she had sold her mother's silver locket and then bought a mauled goat, which she then tied a ping ribbon on and then given it to her sister Prim. With a motherly smile on her face she described Prim's excitement when she saw the goat, and how she even cried from happiness. She also told me how her mother and Prim had worked over the mauled goat and how after all of Prim's dedicated care, the goat got better.
"They sound like you," I comment.
"Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried," she says and the pauses. It takes me a minute to understand what she could have made of her own words.
