“With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.” The morphling stares into Peeta’s eyes, hanging on to his words. “One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one,” says Peeta. […] “I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air,” says Peeta.
Although it’s hard to guess what goes on between those two. I think of how he looked to her for confirmation before he’d agree to help set Beetee’s trap. There’s a much deeper alliance based on years of friendship and who knows what else.