“I want to make my mark,' he says.But what target, I wonder, are you going to hit?”

“I don't want to cry. Everyone will make note of my tears and I'll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction.”

“Prim, let go," I say harshly, because this is upsetting me and I don't want to cry. When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, everyone will make note of my tears, and I'll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction.”

“Whenever you want to achieve something, keep your eyes open, concentrate and make sure you know exactly what it is you want. No one can hit their target with their eyes closed.”

“I wanted...to own you. I wanted a part of me in you." He cringed. "I wanted to mark you, make you mine.”

“But ... but what if I hit you?”A snort. “You’re not going to hit me.”“How do you know?” I bristled at his amused tone. “I could hit you. Even master swordsmen make mistakes. I could get a lucky shot, or you might not see me coming. I don’t want to hurt you.”He favored me with another patient look. “And how much experience do you have with swords and weapons in general?” “Um.” I glanced down at the saber in my hand. “Thirty seconds?”He smiled, that calm, irritatingly confident smirk. “You’re not going to hit me.”