sighs.
A smal hovercraft, different from the one that transported us here, waits on the runway. The second my team's on board, we take off. No comfy seats and windows this time. We seem to be in some sort of cargo craft.
Boggs does emergency first aid on people to hold them until we get back to 13. I want to take off my vest, since I got a fair amount of vomit on it as wel , but it's too cold to think about it. I lie on the floor with my head in Gale's lap. The last thing I remember is Boggs spreading a couple of burlap sacks over me.
When I wake up, I'm warm and patched up in my old bed in the hospital. My mother's there, checking my vital signs. "How do you feel?"
"A little beat-up, but al right," I say.
"No one even told us you were going until you were gone," she says.
I feel a pang of guilt. When your family's had to send you off twice to the Hunger Games, this isn't the kind of detail you should overlook. "I'm sorry. They weren't expecting the attack. I was just supposed to be visiting the patients," I explain. "Next time, I'l have them clear it with you."
"Katniss, no one clears anything with me," she says.
It's true. Even I don't. Not since my father died. Why pretend? "Wel , I'l have them...notify you anyway."
On the bedside table is a piece of shrapnel they removed from my leg. The doctors are more concerned with the damage my brain might have suffered from the explosions, since my concussion hadn't ful y healed to begin with. But I don't have double vision or anything and I can think clearly enough. I've slept right through the late afternoon and night, and I'm starving. My breakfast is disappointingly smal . Just a few cubes of bread soaking in warm milk. I've been cal ed down to an early morning meeting at Command. I start to get up and then realize they plan to rol my hospital bed directly there. I want to walk, but that's out, so I negotiate my way into a wheelchair. I feel fine, real y. Except for my head, and my leg, and the soreness from the bruises, and the nausea that hit a couple minutes after I ate. Maybe the wheelchair's a good idea.
As they wheel me down, I begin to get uneasy about what I wil face. Gale and I directly disobeyed orders yesterday, and Boggs has the injury to prove it. Surely, there wil be repercussions, but wil they go so far as Coin annul ing our agreement for the victors' immunity? Have I stripped Peeta of what little protection I could give him?
When I get to Command, the only ones who've arrived are Cressida, Messal a, and the insects. Messal a beams and says, "There's our little star!" and the others are smiling so genuinely that I can't help but smile in return. They impressed me in 8, fol owing me onto the roof during the bombing, making Plutarch back off so they could get the footage they wanted. They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.
I have a strange thought that if we were in the arena together, I would pick them as al ies. Cressida, Messal a, and--and--"I have to stop cal ing you 'the insects,'" I blurt out to the cameramen. I explain how I didn't know their names, but their suits suggested the shel ed creatures. The comparison doesn't seem to bother them.
Even without the camera shel s, they strongly resemble each other. Same sandy hair, red beards, and blue eyes.
The one with close-bitten nails introduces himself as Castor and the other, who's his brother, as Pol ux. I wait for Pol ux to say hel o, but he just nods. At first I think he's shy or a man of few words. But something tugs on me--the position of his lips, the extra effort he takes to swal ow--and I know before Castor tel s me. Pol ux is an Avox.
They have cut out his tongue and he wil never speak again. And I no longer have to wonder what made him risk everything to help bring down the Capitol.
As the room fil s, I brace myself for a less congenial reception. But the only people who register any kind of As the room fil s, I brace myself for a less congenial reception. But
A smal hovercraft, different from the one that transported us here, waits on the runway. The second my team's on board, we take off. No comfy seats and windows this time. We seem to be in some sort of cargo craft.
Boggs does emergency first aid on people to hold them until we get back to 13. I want to take off my vest, since I got a fair amount of vomit on it as wel , but it's too cold to think about it. I lie on the floor with my head in Gale's lap. The last thing I remember is Boggs spreading a couple of burlap sacks over me.
When I wake up, I'm warm and patched up in my old bed in the hospital. My mother's there, checking my vital signs. "How do you feel?"
"A little beat-up, but al right," I say.
"No one even told us you were going until you were gone," she says.
I feel a pang of guilt. When your family's had to send you off twice to the Hunger Games, this isn't the kind of detail you should overlook. "I'm sorry. They weren't expecting the attack. I was just supposed to be visiting the patients," I explain. "Next time, I'l have them clear it with you."
"Katniss, no one clears anything with me," she says.
It's true. Even I don't. Not since my father died. Why pretend? "Wel , I'l have them...notify you anyway."
On the bedside table is a piece of shrapnel they removed from my leg. The doctors are more concerned with the damage my brain might have suffered from the explosions, since my concussion hadn't ful y healed to begin with. But I don't have double vision or anything and I can think clearly enough. I've slept right through the late afternoon and night, and I'm starving. My breakfast is disappointingly smal . Just a few cubes of bread soaking in warm milk. I've been cal ed down to an early morning meeting at Command. I start to get up and then realize they plan to rol my hospital bed directly there. I want to walk, but that's out, so I negotiate my way into a wheelchair. I feel fine, real y. Except for my head, and my leg, and the soreness from the bruises, and the nausea that hit a couple minutes after I ate. Maybe the wheelchair's a good idea.
As they wheel me down, I begin to get uneasy about what I wil face. Gale and I directly disobeyed orders yesterday, and Boggs has the injury to prove it. Surely, there wil be repercussions, but wil they go so far as Coin annul ing our agreement for the victors' immunity? Have I stripped Peeta of what little protection I could give him?
When I get to Command, the only ones who've arrived are Cressida, Messal a, and the insects. Messal a beams and says, "There's our little star!" and the others are smiling so genuinely that I can't help but smile in return. They impressed me in 8, fol owing me onto the roof during the bombing, making Plutarch back off so they could get the footage they wanted. They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.
I have a strange thought that if we were in the arena together, I would pick them as al ies. Cressida, Messal a, and--and--"I have to stop cal ing you 'the insects,'" I blurt out to the cameramen. I explain how I didn't know their names, but their suits suggested the shel ed creatures. The comparison doesn't seem to bother them.
Even without the camera shel s, they strongly resemble each other. Same sandy hair, red beards, and blue eyes.
The one with close-bitten nails introduces himself as Castor and the other, who's his brother, as Pol ux. I wait for Pol ux to say hel o, but he just nods. At first I think he's shy or a man of few words. But something tugs on me--the position of his lips, the extra effort he takes to swal ow--and I know before Castor tel s me. Pol ux is an Avox.
They have cut out his tongue and he wil never speak again. And I no longer have to wonder what made him risk everything to help bring down the Capitol.
As the room fil s, I brace myself for a less congenial reception. But the only people who register any kind of As the room fil s, I brace myself for a less congenial reception. But
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