The goose can't tell her what it stepped on, but Daine suspects broken glass. Closing her eyes, she sinks herself into the injury, burning out infection and knitting skin and muscle back together. Nothing is broken, at least, but the infection's had some time to run rampant, and it takes Daine some time to root it all out.

When she lifts her head, a good twenty minutes have gone by, and the goose has tucked its head behind one of its wings - though its eyes are still open in case the dogs should get restless. Daine runs a hand over the bird's back, smiling as it untucks its beak and gives her fingers a fond nibble. "Better?" she murmurs.

Much, thank you. The goose gets to its feet and steps out onto the grass, no longer favoring one foot. It stretches, foot and wing extended, then resettles itself with a ruffling of feathers. Daine digs a handful of dried corn out of one pocket and offers it to the goose, who daintily plucks the kernels off of her flattened palm. Then, the bird waddles back down toward the lake, and Daine gets to her feet to see what Peeta's up to.

She pauses a few feet away from him, not wanting to poke her nose into whatever he's working on if he'd rather she didn't. "How's the drawing?"