The horses come to a stop directly under the balcony. I look up and
freeze, too intimidated to breathe. President Snow. Not on a screen, but in
the flesh. The most powerful and, therefore, the most brutal person in
Panem. He stands calm and erect, surveying the calamity of the opening
ceremony. His head dips slightly and a lacquered silvery blond curl falls
onto his forehead. Our eyes meet, and a smile plays on his lips. No anger,
no outrage, and certainly no fear. I have not impressed him with my
performance. The reckless mountain boy with the dead girl in his arms
seems foolish, a trifle amusing, and nothing more.
Something steels inside me, and I think, You are on a high horse,
mister. And someday someone will knock you off it straight into your grave.