I can just make out her voice- a sweet harmony that flows with the breeze through the trees... and then the blood curdling scream that completely eradicates it's beauty. No! I am running now, the dark and verdant forest rushing past my sprinting body in a green and brown blur. The fallen branches and shrubbery that litter the ground piercing the soles of my bare feet, leaving various cuts and sores that throb painfully with each step. The wind whips at my face, brushing my cheeks with its cool spectral-like fingers, coaxing me to go faster, and faster.
My eyes can barely decipher her face now in the very near distance. She lies still upon a blanket of grass in the meadow, the pure white daisies surrounding her limp form. A river of tears rapidly carves its way down my flushed, rosy cheeks. How could I have let this happen? I gaze sorrowfully upon her before my knees buckle and I fall into a sobbing heap by her side. Rue, I mourn internally,but...no. It is not Rue, only a girl with the dark hair of the Seam, and the calm, caring blue eyes of the Baker's youngest son.
She croaks one word before plunging into the dreadful, dark world of demise, "Mommy."...
My body jerks awake as the image of my nightmare appears once again in my mind. It is the exact same one I have been experiencing every night ever since I found out.
I lay a gentle hand on my now protruding belly in where she squirms inside, aroused by my unpleasant dream. Peeta stirs beside me. "Katniss, are you alright?" His voice is fraught with drowsiness. No doubt he had woken up every night these past few months.
I nod, reassuring something that is entirely fallacious. "Sorry." I mutter under my breath, wishing I didn't have to constantly disturb his peaceful sleep.
"It's okay." he breathes dismissively. It was the same response each night. He glances sympathetically in my direction, soft cobalt eyes full with genuine concern for my wellbeing. "Was it the one from before?" The question is virtually useless, for, he is already aware of the answer. I stare stolidly at the dark sheets of the bed, not bothering to react. Peeta sighs heavily and wraps his broad arms around my ever rounding form, pulling me closer to his torso. I settle my head comfortably upon his chest, the steady and reassuring thump of his heart replacing her shrill screams. Silent tears begin to stream down my face, and I find myself whimpering like a small child into the fabric of his shirt.
The nightmare was one of the few things to make me emotional to the point of visible expression. It animated the one justification and fear I presented each time Peeta brought up children for the past fifteen years - the fact that no matter how hard we tried, there was always that chance that we would lose her. It was a thought I couldn't bear to live with; a thought that only had one possible solution...keep her from existing in the first place. He had to convince me that she would be safe, that nothing would happen to her as long as she was under our watch and care. He had to teach me that love could overcome all. Being the most powerful emotion there is, it could protect her from those things, and that the best part was that we are the ones to supply her with it, show her the affection unconditionally, and teach her how to reciprocate its beauty. I, of course, had to point out that while being the most puissant, love is also the most dangerous and unpredictable, and is the exact reason why we mourn for them when they are gone. Even now, I am not entirely sure how he managed to get me to agree. Maybe it was the way he was so dedicated to asking me at the right moment, always making sure I could handle the question and its answer; or maybe, it was his expression each time I turned him down, the content visage that would attempt to mask the defeat and rejection that was truly being felt; or perhaps, it was how each night I would fall a sleep thinking of Haymitch's words: "You could live a hundred lifetimes, and not deserve him." I may have been slightly intoxicated at the time, but nothing - death, the Hunger Games, not even war, could erase the stark truth and reality in the one sentence. I owe Peeta so much... and she was the one thing that could make up for that. Though, even after I agreed, the horrifying terror still dwindled deep down inside, -that something, anything, would harm her one day.
When those awful choking noises begin to make an appearance, Peeta strokes my hair in a calming gesture. "Shh. It'll be okay Katniss." I don't respond, not even in actions
After a few wordless, dragging minutes, I attempt to lighten the mood. "She's not even born yet and I am already worrying about her to an extent." The phrase emerges blandly but its enough to get a throaty chuckle out of Peeta.
He lays his hand next to where I had placed mine earlier. "Your going to make a great mother, you know." He catches my eyes with his, the emotion emanating from his blue orbs intense. I pause. His words are the same ones used in reference to the fictional baby during the Quarter Quell after giving me the locket, used to decipher reality from the never-ending game we played with the Capitol. The only difference being that this time the baby is real, and there is no Capitol or Hunger Games. A small grin plays itself across my lips. Peeta acknowledges this and replies with a similar gesture. It wasn't the best time of our lives, but it was certainly one of the most memorable.
Eventually we fall back asleep, allowing the somnolent feelings to envelope our exhausted bodies. Peeta has his strong arms wrapped around my waist, his hands meeting mine at my taut stomach. This time I sleep soundly, no unpleasant interruptions whatsoever. And, for once in a long while, I feel peace.