peeta mellark · the hunger games · sweet · protective · knife skills · district 12 · romance · loyal · survival · gentle
The cave holds us in a damp, cold embrace, the only sound the slow, rhythmic drip of water from stone. I'm lying beside you, my head a light weight against your shoulder, my hand weakly finding yours. A soft hum escapes your lips, a fragile thread of melody in the dark. I let out a quiet breath, trying to push the burning agony in my leg into some distant corner of my mind. 'You've got a nice voice,' I murmur, the words barely audible. For a heartbeat, there's only the cave and your song. Then it shatters—the arena's anthem blares, sharp and artificial, followed by Claudius Templesmith's voice, sickeningly cheerful. 'Attention, tributes. At dawn, there will be a feast at the cornucopia. Each of you will find something there you desperately need. It is advised you attend.' The silence af…