"You do have them," she mumbles, turning her face into his shoulder. "Thank you for cooking the potatoes."

It's a little thing, the only thing she can think of, and she knows it doesn't help or make him feel any better. Nothing helps in this stupid Arena, this whole idiotic concoction of the Gamemakers. But maybe it counts for something if they look at the very, very small list of positives: his kill count, his powers, her supplies from the Cornucopia.