Katniss POV

As the Mellark clan trudges through the frozen grass, I breathe deep and the fragrant smell of the forest fills my lungs. I smile. My breath fogs out into the air around me, reminding me how cold it is. I'm guessing it could snow any time now, and since it's Christmas Eve the children would be delighted if that happened.

I help Rose hop over a fallen tree branch, her little mittened hands grasping onto my gloved ones. She giggles as I swing her over.

"Higher!" she shrieks happily.

"Look! I wanna get that one!" Little Fred is pointing to the nearest tree, a small bushy green one about the same size as him. The hunt for the best Christmas tree is on. The children have been wanting to get one for weeks, but I promised we'd get one the day before Christmas as that was always a tradition in my house and I want to keep it alive. As soon as we finished breakfast this morning, Peeta reminded me today was the day to cut down our tree and now here we are in the woods and the search begins.

"Why, that one's no bigger than you, Freddy," Peeta says, crouching down to Fred's level. Fred stands next to the tree and Peeta pretends to measure them. "Actually, I think you've got an inch over the tree. A bit too small for all the ornaments we want to hang on it. It also just smells like sap. Let's keep looking."

Frankly, I think any tree would be fine. All we're going to do is decorate it and any old tree would look pretty when decorated. But Peeta insists it's got to have a certain fragrant smell, size, and shape. I let him go ahead with it.

Rose tugs on my hand.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm so cold, Mama!" She starts to cry, big tears rolling down her crisp pink cheeks.

I pick her up and sit her on my hips. "Peeta! Rosie's getting cold."

"She can go home if she wants," Fred snaps.

I hold back a laugh. It's always funny when I see a bit of my temper in this four-year old boy.

"Hey, Fredrick, don't talk to your mother that way," Peeta scolds him, all seriously. "Now go apologize to her and give your sister a kiss while you're at it."

Fred does, smiling, "Sorry, Mommy, sorry, Rosie."

My mind drifts to memories of past Christmas Eves. One year, when I was just twelve and Prim was eight, she begged our mother for a Christmas tree after seeing them being sold in the town square. Mother had just mentally come back to us and couldn't handle any crying or demanding from Prim. I intervened before something bad could happen, like Mother retreating back into her state of being frozen. I promised Prim before I went out that I would bring back some sort of tree, and she promised me she wouldn't hound Mother about Christmas frivolousness. Gale helped me pick a tiny, shapely tree to bring home for Prim, and when we did Mother even brought out some old glass ornaments that used to be her mother's before her. It's the best Christmas I can remember celebrating with the two of them.

Happy cries from the children snap me out of my reverie. Rose wiggles to get out of my arms so I set her down and she immediately begins dancing around in the falling white flakes.

"Mommy, Daddy, look! Snow!" Fred shouts gleefully. He stands with his head flung back and his mouth wide open, trying to catch a snowflake on his tongue.

I love how resilient children are. how Rose stops crying, forgets her woes at the sight of snow. Even when we were starving, Prim never thought the worst, she always encouraged me.

Peeta and I turn to each, our eyes meet, and we smile.