Fiszkoteka -> klik
I get a good haul(zdobyłam dobry łup) from the traps(pułapki) — eight rabbits, two squirrels, and a beaver that
swam into a wire contraption(wynalazek) Gale designed himself. He's something of a whiz(ekspert)
with snares(sidła), rigging them to bent(wygięte) saplings(młode drzewo) so they pull the kill out of the reach of
predators, balancing logs on delicate stick triggers, weaving inescapable
baskets to capture fish. As I go along, carefully resetting each snare, I know I
can never quite replicate his eye for balance, his instinct for where the prey will
cross the path. It's more than experience. It's a natural gift. Like the way I can
shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one
arrow.
By the time I make it back to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun is well
up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current
running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is
supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of
the fence and come up in the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My
old home. We still get to keep it since officially it's the designated dwelling of my
mother and sister. If I should drop dead right now, they would have to return to
it. But at present, they're both happily installed in the new house in the Victor's
Village, and I'm the only one who uses the squat little place where I was raised.
To me, it's my real home.
I go there now to switch my clothes. Exchange my father's old leather jacket for
a fine wool coat that always seems too tight in the shoulders. Leave my soft,
