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p to avoid the fireballs。 Each one is only the size of an apple； but packs tremendous power on contact。 Every sense I have goes into overdrive as the need to survive takes over。 Thereˇs no time to judge if a move is the correct one。 When thereˇs a hiss； I act or die。
Something keeps me moving forward； though。 A lifetime of watching the Hunger Games lets me know that certain areas of the arena are rigged for certain attacks。 And that if I can just get away from this section； I might be able to move out of reach of the launchers。 I might also then fall straight into a pit of vipers； but I canˇt worry about that now。
How long I scramble along dodging the fireballs I canˇt say； but the attacks finally begin to abate。 Which is good； because Iˇm retching again。 This time itˇs an acidic substance that scalds my throat and makes its way into my nose as well。 Iˇm forced to stop as my body convulses； trying desperately to rid itself of the poisons Iˇve been sucking in during the attack。 I wait for the next hiss； the next signal to bolt。 It doesnˇt e。 The force of the retching has squeezed tears out of my stinging eyes。 My clothes are drenched in sweat。 Somehow； through the smoke and vomit； I pick up the scent of singed hair。 My hand fumbles to my braid and finds a fireball has seared off at least six inches of it。 Strands of blackened hair crumble in my fingers。 I stare at them； fascinated by the transformation； when the hissing registers。
My muscles react； only not fast enough this time。 The fireball crashes into the ground at my side； but not before it skids across my right calf。 Seeing my pants leg on fire sends me over the edge。 I twist and scuttle backward on my hands and feet； shrieking； trying to remove myself from the horror。 When I finally regain enough sense； I roll the leg back and forth on the ground； which stifles the worst of it。 But then； without thinking； I rip away the remaining fabric with my bare hands。
I sit on the ground； a few yards from the blaze set off by the fireball。 My calf is screaming； my hands covered in red welts。 Iˇm shaking too hard to move。 If the Gamemakers want to finish me off； now is the time。
I hear Cinnaˇs voice； carrying images of rich fabric and sparkling gems。 ¨Katniss； the girl who was on fire。〃 What a good laugh the Gamemakers must be having over that one。 Perhaps； Cinnaˇs beautiful costumes have even brought on this particular torture for me。 I know he couldnˇt have foreseen this； must be hurting for me because； in fact； I believe he cares about me。 But all in all； maybe showing up stark naked in that chariot would have been safer for me。
The attack is now over。 The Gamemakers donˇt want me dead。 Not yet anyway。 Everyone knows they could destroy us all within seconds of the opening gong。 The real sport of the Hunger Games is watching the tributes kill one another。 Every so often； they do kill a tribute just to remind the players they can。 But mostly； they manipulate us into confronting one another face…to…face。 Which means； if I am no longer being fired at； there is at least one other tribute close at hand。
I would drag myself into a tree and take cover now if I could； but the smoke is still thick enough to kill me。 I make myself stand and begin to limp away from the wall of flames that lights up the sky。 It does not seem to be pursuing me any longer； except with its stinking black clouds。
Another light； daylight； begins to softly emerge。 Swirls of smoke catch the sunbeams。 My visibility is poor。 I can see maybe fifteen yards in any direction。 A tribute could easily be concealed from me here。 I should draw my knife as a precaution； but I doubt my ability to hold it for long。 The pain in my hands can in no way pete with that in my calf。 I hate burns； have always hated them； even a small one gotten from pulling a pan of bread from the oven。 It is the worst kind of pain to me； but I have never experienced anything like this。
Iˇm so weary I donˇt even notice Iˇm in the pool until Iˇm ankle…deep。 Itˇs spring…fed； bubbling up out of a crevice in some rocks； and blissfully cool。 I plunge my hands into the shallow water and feel instant relief。 Isnˇt that what my mother always says？ The first treatment for a burn is cold water？ That it draws out the heat？ But she means minor burns。 Probably sheˇd remend it for my hands。 But what of my calf？ Although I have not yet had the courage to examine it； Iˇm guessing that itˇs an injury in a whole different class。
I lie on my stomach at edge of the pool for a while； dangling my hands in the water； examining the little flames on my fingernails that are beginning to chip off。 Good。 Iˇve had enough fire for a lifetime。
I bathe the blood and ash from my face。 I try to recall all I know about burns。 They are mon injuries in the Seam where we cook and heat our homes with coal。 Then there are the mine accidents。 。 。 。 A family once brought in an unconscious young man pleading with my mother to help him。 The district doctor whoˇs responsible for treating the miners had written him off； told the family to take him home to die。 But they wouldnˇt accept this。 He lay on our kitchen table； senseless to the world。 I got a glimpse of the wound on his thigh； gaping； charred flesh； burned clear down to the bone； before I ran from the house。 I went to the woods and hunted the entire day； haunted by the gruesome leg； memories of my fatherˇs death。 Whatˇs funny was； Prim； whoˇs scared of her own shadow； stayed and helped。 My mother says healers are born； not made。 They did their best； but the man died； just like the doctor said he would。
My leg is in need of attention； but I still canˇt look at it。 What if itˇs as bad as the manˇs and I can see my bone？ Then I remember my mother saying that if a burnˇs severe； the victim might not even feel pain because the nerves would be destroyed。 Encouraged by this； I sit up and swing my leg in front of me。
I almost faint at the sight of my calf。 The flesh is a brilliant red covered with blisters。 I force myself to take deep； sloeras are on my face。 I canˇt show weakness at this injury。 Not if I want help。 Pity does not get you aid。 Admiration at your refusal to give in does。 I cut the remains of the pant leg off at the knee and examine the injury more closely。 The burned area is about the size of my hand。 None of the skin is blackened。 I think itˇs not too bad to soak。 Gingerly I stretch out my leg into the pool； propping the heel of my boot on a rock so the leather doesnˇt get too sodden； and sigh； because this does offer some relief。 I know there are herbs； if I could find them； that would speed the healing； but I canˇt quite call them to mind。 Water and time will probably be all I have to work with。
Should I be moving on？ The smoke is slowly clearing but still too heavy to be healthy。 If I do continue away from the fire； wonˇt I be walking straight into the weapons of the Careers？ Besides； every time I lift my leg from the water； the pain rebounds so intensely I have to slide it back in。 My hands are slightly less demanding。 They can handle small breaks from the pool。 So I slowly put my gear back in order。 First I fill my bottle with the pool water； treat it； and when enough time has p