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had to let him stay。 It turned out okay。 My mother got rid of the vermin and heˇs a born mouser。 Even catches the occasional rat。 Sometimes； when I clean a kill； I feed Buttercup the entrails。 He has stopped hissing at me。
Entrails。 No hissing。 This is the closest we will ever e to love。
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots。 Supple leather that has molded to my feet。 I pull on trousers； a shirt； tuck my long dark braid up into a cap； and grab my forage
bag。 On the table； under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike； sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves。 Primˇs gift to me on reaping day。 I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside。
Our part of District 12； nicknamed the Seam； is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour。 Men and women with hunched shoulders； swollen knuckles； many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails； the lines of their sunken faces。 But today the black cinder streets are empty。 Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed。 The reaping isnˇt until
two。 May as well sleep in。 If you can。
Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam。 I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow。 Separating the Meadow from the woods； in fact enclosing all of District 12； is a high chain…link fence topped with barbedwire loops。 In theory； itˇs supposed to be electrified twentyfour hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live in the woods � packs of wild dogs； lone cougars； bears � that used to threaten our streets。 But since weˇre lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings； itˇs usually safe to touch。 Even so； I a
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