Peeta knew it was her, even from fifty feet away. Even with her back to him. She held her spine steel straight, the slope and ridge of it along with the dusk of her skin visible through the soaked cotton of her dress and shift. He would know that fall of heavy hair anywhere. The black of it an ink midnight spill coming apart over her shoulder down to her hip. The single braid she now wore instead of the two that taunted his fingers on the day they met. The day he was so desperate to meet her, that he did everything wrong and became her enemy.