She's so fragile. Her black hair has been burned away in places, so it's thinner than it used to be. Even though patches were gone, most of it disappeared by her own hands. Ever since she returned to District 12, when she felt alone, depressed, broken, her hands would slowly move up to her head, and pull out strands, one by one. I watched her do it, told her to stop, but she couldn't. She was thinner, thinner than when I threw her the bread on that rainy day, so may years ago, before life became complicated. When she wore her nightgown, I could count every rib, could see her hips through the paper-thin cloth. I could encircle her waist with my hands. The worst thing was that sometimes her mind was gone too. She would wake up screaming, convinced that she was back in the games, convinced that I was Cato about to kill her. In these terrible moments, her eyes were wide, empty and unseeing. All I could do was hold her until she falls back asleep, until her body relaxed, until she really opened her eyes and saw me. The strong huntress I knew was gone, replaced by this fragile, bird-like child. But, I loved her, loved her with all my heart. And, I knew that someday, my Katniss would be back. And until then, I had to protect her. Make sure she stays safe. Because it's all I can do.