Sing。 My throat is tight with tears； hoarse from smoke and fatigue。 But if this is Primˇs； I mean； Rueˇs last request； I have to at least try。 The song that es to me is a simple lullaby； one we sing fretful； hungry babies to sleep with； Itˇs old； very old I think。 Made up long ago in our hills。 What my music teacher calls a mountain air。 But the words are easy and soothing； promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today。
I give a small cough； swallow hard； and begin：
Deep in the meadow； under the willow
A bed of grass； a soft green pillow
Lay down your head； and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open； the sun will rise。
Here itˇs safe； here itˇs warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you。
Rueˇs eyes have fluttered shut。 Her chest moves but only slightly。 My throat releases the tears and they slide down my cheeks。 But I have to finish the song for her。
Deep in the meadow； hidden far away
A cloak of leaves； a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again itˇs morning； theyˇll wash away。
Here itˇs safe； here itˇs warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
The final lines are barely audible。
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you。
Everythingˇs still and quiet。 Then； almost eerily； the mockingjays take up my song。
For a moment； I sit there； watching my tears drip down on her face。 Rueˇs cannon fires。 I lean forward and press my lips against her temple。 Slowly； as if not to wake her； I lay her head back on the ground and release her hand。
Theyˇll want me to clear out now。 So they can collect the bodies。 And thereˇs nothing to stay for。 I roll the boy from District 1 onto his face and take his pack； retrieve the arrow that ended his life。 I cut Rueˇs pack from her back as well； knowing sheˇd want me to have it but leave the spear in her stomach。 Weapons in bodies will be transported to the hovercraft。 Iˇve no use for a spear； so the sooner itˇs gone from the arena the better。
I canˇt stop looking at Rue； smaller than ever； a baby animal curled up in a nest of ting。 I canˇt bring myself to leave her like this。 Past harm； but seeming utterly defenseless。 To hate the boy from District 1； who also appears so vulnerable in death； seems inadequate。 Itˇs the Capitol I hate； for doing this to all of us。
Galeˇs voice is in my head。 His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless； no longer to be ignored。 Rueˇs death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty； the injustice they inflict upon us。 But here； even more strongly than at home； I feel my impotence。 Thereˇs no way to take revenge on the Capitol。 Is there？
Then I remember Peetaˇs words on the roof。 ¨Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to 。 。 。 to show the Capital they donˇt own me。 That Iˇm more than just a piece in their Games。〃 And for the first time； I understand what he means。
I want to do something； right here； right now； to shame them； to make them accountable； to show the Capitol that whatever they do or force us to do there is a part of every tribute they canˇt own。 That Rue was more than a piece in their Games。 And so am I。
A few steps into the woods grows a bank of wildflowers。 Perhaps they are really weeds of some sort； but they have blossoms in beautiful shades of violet and yellow and white。 I gather up an armful and e back to Rueˇs side。 Slowly； one stem at a time； I decorate her body in the flowers。 Covering the ugly wound。 Wreathing her face。 Weaving her hair with bright colors。
Theyˇll have to show it。 Or； even if they choose to turn the cameras elsewhere at this moment； theyˇll have to bring them back when they collect the bodies and everyone will see her then and know I did it。 I step back and take a last look at Rue。 She could really be asleep in that meadow after all。
¨Bye； Rue；〃 I whisper。 I press the three middle fingers of my left hand against my lips and hold them out in her direction。 Then I walk away without looking back。
The birds fall silent。 Somewhere； a mockingjay gives the warning whistle that precedes the hovercraft。 I donˇt know how it knows。 It must hear things that humans canˇt。 I pause； my eyes focused on whatˇs ahead； not whatˇs happening behind me。 It doesnˇt take long； then the general birdsong begins again and I know sheˇs gone。
Another mockingjay； a young one by the look of it； lands on a branch before me and bursts out Rueˇs melody。
My song； the hovercraft； were too unfamiliar for this novice to pick up； but it has mastered her handful of notes。 The ones that mean sheˇs safe。
¨Good and safe；〃 I say as I pass under its branch。 ¨We donˇt have to worry about her now。〃 Good and safe。
Iˇve no idea where to go。 The brief sense of home I had that one night with Rue has vanished。 My feet wander this way and that until sunset。 Iˇm not afraid； not even watchful。 Which makes me an easy target。 Except Iˇd kill anyone I met on sight。 Without emotion or the slightest tremor in my hands。 My hatred of the Capitol has not lessened my hatred of my petitors in the least。 Especially the Careers。 They； at least； can be made to pay for Rueˇs death。
No one materializes though。 There arenˇt many of us left and itˇs a big arena。 Soon theyˇll be pulling out some other device to force us together。 But thereˇs been enough gore today。 Perhaps weˇll even get to sleep。
Iˇm about to haul my packs into a tree to make camp when a silver parachute floats down and lands in front of me。 A gift from a sponsor。 But why now？ Iˇve been in fairly good shape with supplies。 Maybe Haymitchˇs noticed my despondency and is trying to cheer me up a bit。 Or could it be something to help my ear？
I open the parachute and find a small loaf of bread Itˇs not the fine white Capitol stuff。 Itˇs made of dark ration grain and shaped in a crescent。 Sprinkled with seeds。 I flash back to Peetaˇs lesson on the various district breads in the Training Center。 This bread came from District 11。 I cautiously lift the still warm loaf。 What must it have cost the people of District 11 who canˇt even feed themselves？ How many wouldˇve had to do without to scrape up a coin to put in the collection for this one loaf？ It had been meant for Rue； surely。 But instead of pulling the gift when she died； theyˇd authorized Haymitch to give it to me。 As a thank…you？ Or because； like me； they donˇt like to let debts go unpaid？ For whatever reason； this is a first。 A district gift to a tribute whoˇs not your own。
I lift my face and step into the last falling rays of sunlight。 ¨My thanks to the people of District Eleven；〃 I say。 I want them to know I know where it came from。 That the full value of their gift has been recognized。
I climb dangerously high into a tree； not for safety but to get as far away from today as I can。 My sleeping bag is rolled neatly in Rueˇs pack。 Tomorrow Iˇll sort through the supplies。 Tomorrow Iˇll make a new plan。 But tonight； all I can do is strap myself in and take tiny bites of the bread。 Itˇs good。 It tastes of home。
Soon the se