Katniss POV

Everyday from then on, I meet the boy with the golden hair and blue eyes in the Meadow after school. Sometimes, I bring Prim along to give her an opportunity to gather and draw with Peeta while I go and practice my shooting beyond the fence, but that is a rarity. Since my father can go back to work in the mines, he can also resume hunting. Every morning before school, well before dawn, we go out to hunt. My mother is wary of us going out in the woods in the pure darkness, but is just as hungry for fresh food as anyone. While my father invited me to go hunting after school as well sometimes, I reserved that time slot for Peeta. By now, my bow skills have improved enough to hit a target at relatively close range. My father claims I have a gift, but I relate the skill to many hours practicing everyday in the woods for a few weeks. The day before my first reaping, a Sunday, is where I really begin to think of Peeta in a different way.

The day starts out as any other Sunday morning; I rise before dawn and slip into my 'new' leather boots (originally, they were my mother's, but they are as new as any clothing in Twelve gets) and don my hunting clothes. My father, already awake, is ready in his hunting jacket, and we set off for the woods. However, once I have to start shooting, my focus is completely gone as I panic. The rabbit darts into the bushes while I shake, thinking only of what tomorrow will bring.

"Katniss, it's okay. Why don't you go back to the house and see if Mother can use any help grinding herbs," My father says soothingly as I tremble. I can only nod as I walk back to put away my small bow and sheath of arrows, already thinking about what time I have to meet Peeta today. I quicken my pace at the though of him showing up at the Meadow with his small sketch pad and the few pieces of coal he could hide from his mother to draw with. From what my mother's old pocket watch reads, it is almost ten o'clock, and he should be in the Meadow in a half an hour.

Is it worth it to go home? I think, imagining each scenario. If I'm a little late, he won't mind, would he? Or would he go home and be disappointed... Or even worse, start to hate me and never show up again?! However ridiculous this reasoning seems, I wait in the Meadow anyway, relaxing in the heat of the summer sun. I imagine a world without the Capitol, without the Games. I imagine what it would be like to live without the constant fear hanging over our world. I wonder if my friendship with Madge would develop more if we weren't so worried about being attached to each other. After all, why try to befriend more people when they could just be taken away in an instant? The less people you love, the better. Take the Hawthorne's, for example. From a big, happy family of six to a struggling one of four, barely hanging onto life as their loved ones' lives were taken away in a matter of minutes. Gale had died the day before Haymitch had come around the district, secretly giving away food and medicine in the dead of night from an unknown provider. Most likely, my mother had said, the extra nutrition and medication would've spared Gale a few more days in order to get a heavier antibiotic to ultimately save him. However, help was almost always too far behind, and now Rory started hunting and trapping as well. Without Snow, the seven year old wouldn't have to face the woods and adulthood more than ten years too early...

It is now eleven o'clock, and Peeta has yet to show up. I retreat to the shade of the trees on the border of the fence, and already am sensing sunburn when he finally shows up.

"Where were you? I've been waiting for age-" I'm broken off by the tears in his eyes. Then, the limp becomes more apparent as he walks up the small hill leading to where I'm sitting.

"Oh, gosh Katniss, I'm sorry. I've been at the apothecary trying to get an herbal concoction for this-" he lifts up his left pant leg, revealing a gaping burn across his knee, "-since the town doctor is giving surgery," He explains, holding back fresh tears. The wound looks awful, with many blisters and bright red, festering flesh.

"Peeta, what happened? You could've just gone to my mother, smart one! Are you okay? You should have told me!" I'm caught in between yelling at him and panicking over his condition.

"My mother burnt me with the cookie pan after it came out of the oven. I'd accidently forgotten the yeast in our bread recipe and it never rose..." he is in too much pain to continue, and bursts into tears beside me. Thinking quickly, I remember that my father usually finished hunting by now and would take the route through the Meadow to walk to the Hob.

"Okay, Peeta, if you can walk, we can help you. Do you think you can make it to that group of bushes over there?" I inquire. The answer better be yes; the stupid boy walked from the apothecary to here, if he can make that walk, he can definitely walk a hundred yards.

"Yeah..." He says through a clenched jaw. Slowly, I help him to his feet and take on the role of a human crutch. Thankfully, we don't have to walk all the way to the break in the fence, for Father is already making his way to the Hob. Game bag slung over his back, he seems to be dragging a rather large haul, even for a Sunday.

"Father!" I call out; weary from dragging Peeta along for even fifty yards. "Father, we need help!" Immediately, he catches sight of us and jogs to where we've stopped.

"You Bann's boy?" he asks once he realizes who the merchant I'm supporting is. He has heard a bit about Peeta in the past two weeks, but probably wouldn't believe our friendship until he saw it himself.

"Yes, sir," Peeta replies. Suddenly, he's back to being that shy, awkward boy that I had first met on the day he gave me the bread. I'm so used to funny, smart, outgoing, and charming Peeta that this version of him seems like a complete stranger.

"Well, what's happened here?" he asks kindly. Peeta's shoulders relax a bit as he explains.

"My mother burned my knee with a baking tray after it was in the oven and then struck me with it..." his voice wavers. "I didn't mean to mess up the recipe, but now I lost two loaves worth of baking supplies and have to work it off in the bakery for the next four months..." Father's face turns from compassionate to absolute rage and disgust.

"That little bitch..." he mumbles, then proceeds to examine Peeta's knee. While I only noticed the burn at first glance, I now see where part of his knee looks deformed. He's in no shape to be moving; how he was able to make it to the Meadow, I'll never know. Father then scoops Peeta up in his arms and motions for me to take the game bag.

"Trade the dog at Sae's for a large package of stew. Then go straight to Hardy's and ask for two shoelaces in return for a rabbit and a squirrel. Don't trade in town. Bring the rest back here and I'll go there myself later on," My father instructs me. Though I'm willing to help him out, I'm terrified at the thought of going into the Hob by myself. The stares Rory Hawthorne gets are always ones of pity or distaste; never in between. If I go with my father, he earns looks of respect, but going alone is a whole other story. Plus, I'm deathly afraid of what might happen to Peeta. What if he needs to have surgery on his knee? While I have no doubt in my mind my mother would do a fantastic job, sterilization in District Twelve is always at a bare minimum. If he developed an infection, there's little chance he'd survive. The only time us in the districts get Capitol medicine is if we are in the Games or if Haymitch smuggles it. Also, the games are tomorrow, and if Peeta is reaped... Quickly, I hurry down the dirt road and into the Hob.

I struggle around the Hob with the game bag lying heavily across my back. No matter what position it is in, it always seems to be getting heavier and heavier by the minute. By the time I get to Hardy, I'm panting and dragging my feet with fatigue.

After trading for the shoelaces (which, surprisingly, was uneventful), I quickly walk over to Greasy Sae's booth and ask for a large container of stew.

"Where's your father, girlie?" she asked not unkindly. There was a hint of worry in her old grey eyes. "He didn't go and reinjure himself, did he?"

"Oh, no! He's just...Uh... Taking care of business..." I lie. To my surprise, she lets out a hearty laugh and says something unintelligible to the man running the stall next to her. Thoroughly flustered, I mumble a thanks and drop the wild dog off behind her stand. I hear her shout an apology after me as I run down the beaten path, both eager and dreading to get home.

Immediately upon entering, I drop off the game bag and run to the kitchen only to be shushed by my mother. There, Prim is wrapping homemade bandages around a stubby twig and placing them in a small cardboard box. Behind her is a small array of jars filled with herbs and medicine. I look frantically around for Peeta, hoping against hope that he's still here when my father ushers me over to the bedroom.

"We'll bring him home at around four, when he's due to wake up. He's out on sleep syrup, but you may go in and stay with him for a bit," father whispers. Peeta is lying face-up on Prim and my bed, with his leg propped up on stacks of thin sheets. His knee is fully wrapped in old pieces of cloth and sterile bandages peeking out from underneath the ratty old materials. "There's not much damage to his kneecap, surprisingly. He only dislocated it; hence the many layers of cloth." With that, my father turns back into the hallway and lifts the game bag over his shoulder once again. Kissing my mother goodbye, he silently leaves to finish trading.

"Katniss?" Peeta mumbles. I shoot up at the sound of his voice. Before I can say anything, he continues to half-slur-half-mumble. "I just want you to know..." I lean in closer, for the sleep syrup is pulling him under. "If I'm reaped tomorrow..." At this, I snort. Peeta's as safe as you can get: like me, he has only one slip out of thousands.

"You won't get picked," I scoff.

"Yeah, I will. I took tesserae for the kids in the Home," he continues to fight off the sleep syrup.

"What?" it dawns on me that he could very well get picked. There are more than four hundred kids in the home, an all-time low, but that is still four hundred more slips.

"My brothers, Thistle, and Delly are in on it, too," he says, obviously trying to comfort me.

"But you can't die! You can't just leave me here! Promise me you won't leave me..." I start to sob. A pang of sadness washes over me as I think of a world without Peeta. No more meeting in the Meadow at sunset. No more sharing food at the lunch tables at school. No more picking dandelions and teaching Prim how to draw. No more hope that everything can be okay...

"I promise that I won't die," he's getting hazier by the second. "But if it doesn't happen, then I need you to know that I love you... I have for a long time, actually..." I'm so shocked at this declaration of love that my tears stop, as though someone turned off a faucet. Peeta... Loves me? Since when? The overwhelming feeling of dread is appearing, and then the faucet is back on, and I'm making those awful choking sounds that I make when I cry. With no more energy to speak, Peeta grasps my hand in his and speaks one last time before drifting back to sleep.

"Always."