¨Well; donˇt step on me。〃

I jump back。 His voice was right under my feet。 Still thereˇs nothing。 Then his eyes open; unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves。 I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs。

Itˇs the final word in camouflage。 Forget chucking weights around。 Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree。 Or a boulder。 Or a muddy bank full of weeds。

¨Close your eyes again;〃 I order。 He does; and his mouth; too; and pletely disappears。 Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants。 His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible。 I kneel beside him。 ¨I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off。〃

Peeta smiles。 ¨Yes; frosting。 The final defense of the dying。〃

¨Youˇre not going to die;〃 I tell him firmly。 ¨Says who?〃 His voice is so ragged。 ¨Says me。 Weˇre on the same team now; you know;〃 I tell him。

His eyes open。 ¨So; I heard。 Nice of you to find whatˇs left of me。〃

I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink。 ¨Did Cato cut you?〃 I ask。

¨Left leg。 Up high;〃 he answers。

¨Letˇs get you in the stream; wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds youˇve got;〃 I say。

¨Lean down a minute first;〃 he says。 ¨Need to tell you something。〃 I lean over and put my good ear to his lips; which tickle as he whispers。 ¨Remember; weˇre madly in love; so itˇs all right to