Mist grazed the streets. Even though the houses were close together, they could be barely seen. The light layer of coal dust that covered everything in the Seam, at this time of the morning was always a bit oozy with dew. In many houses men were beginning to get up, in others people were still sleeping.
Gale Hawthorne was one of those man getting up, even if he was still a boy in age, he was the man of the house. He brought home the game from the woods and other goods from the Hob: all illegal activities, but the only one he could do to help his family. And so, every morning, before the sun came up, he woke up, silently getting dressed in the dark, he grabbed his jacked from the hook near the door and picked up the bag he dropped the day before on the floor under it. He waited to put on his boots until he was on the porch, quickly tying them up to stride through the misty streets. When he reached the limit of the Meadow he stopped checking to be alone. There was never anyone around so close to the fence, but he always preferred to be safe now, rather than sorry later. He crossed the arid plain, getting his boots wet in the dew, and checked for any humming that meant that the fence was alive. It was all silent. He crouched down to get across the limit.
It was always sudden, as soon as he was on the other side of the fence a sense of freedom exploded inside of him, there he could truly be himself, he could do whatever he wanted and feel whatever he wanted. He breathed the fresh and humid cold air, filling his lungs as much as possible. When he exhaled he started walking through the trees. The silence was almost complete, only a light breeze that ruffled the lasts leaves gave life to the forest. He's feet crunched lightly on branches and leaves. For how much he tried, fall was the least ideal season to walk quietly in the woods.
After a few minutes, he reached the first snare line. He checked it out, unfortunately it was empty. He resumed his hike, headed to their place, the rock were Katniss and he always met up. Before making it there, he retrieved his bow, the bow that Katniss had given him on his 16th birthday, and then went on to the rock. When he arrived, Katniss wasn't there yet. He sat down, it was extremely cold, but it helped wake him up. When he arrived before her, he often spent the time waiting there thinking and staring out in the space. There wasn't much to see, the tops of the trees where barely visible in the white mist hugging everything and soon his mind started wandering.
In the first few months since his father's death, he felt lonely, sad, anguished, abandoned and a number of other negative emotions. When at home, he faked to be fine for his siblings sake and to help out his mother, but when he was out in the woods he could let go of everything. He cried many times in those first few months alone in the woods. No one knew about this, not even Katniss, it was his secret: everyday after school he went out of the fence and spent some time alone letting all his walls fall down, letting go of all his pain, then, when he had calmed down, he got up and checked the snares. Some days he was lucky and he caught a couple of squirrels or a couple of rabbits, some other days not so much.
Then one cold October day, he saw a little girl trying to steal one of his rabbits. He had gone out later than usual, his brothers wanted to play and his mother was in no shape to keep up with them all day: the baby was taking up much of her time and was also probably coming down with something, since she never stopped crying. He had observed her for a while and when she reached at the wire he made himself known. She had jumped away so scared when he had accused her of stealing, looking even younger. She was gaunt and seemed to disappear in that too big jacket. He looked her up and down and while he went on to retrieve the little animal, he asked her name. She answered in such an hushed tone that at first he hadn't caught her name right, but since then he never let himself be bothered by his little faux pas: she had become his Catnip. When he learned she was used to shot squirrels with a bow he was a bit suspicious: such a little girl using a bow? It was a bit strange. When he had asked to see the bow she was using, she threw back at him his own comment and in that moment he started liking her. She was witty for such a little girl. Then they arranged to share their knowledge: he agreed to teach her how to create efficient snares and in return she would instruct him how to shoot.
The first time he had showed her how to make a snare was a bit off-putting for her: the wires he was used to, were a bit hard to manoeuvre and tie, therefore she had cut herself trying to tie a knot. She had pulled to hard and the thin wire had cut right in the crease of her index finger. She had yelped in pain and had brought the bleeding finger to her mouth. Her eyes had watered in pain, but, stubborn as she was, she had refused to let them slip out of her eyes. He had lured her to show him the hurt finger: fortunately it hadn't been too deep of a cut he had brought his finger to his mouth trying to stop the bleeding while he fumbled with his shirt trying to cut off a slice of cloth to tie around it. After that day they kept practising a bit everyday until one day she finally made an almost perfect snare all on her own, they had set it up and went off to trade at the Hob. There he had decided to get her a present, but there wasn't much he could spare, so he simply decided to offer her some of Greasy Sae's soup. It took him a while to convince her but the cold weather they had suffered the whole morning finally convinced her. He didn't know why he had felt the urge to give her at least that, but he managed to convince her and that was enough for him.
At the same time he had been teaching her how to make snares, she had started training him on how to use the bow. The first time he held the weapon was rather humiliating. He had no problem drawing it and nocking the arrow, after all he was older and a bit more of muscles, but nevertheless, when he had released it, the arrow had gone just some feet ahead and slightly to the side bouncing on the forest's uneven ground. Katniss had bursted into laugh bending in half and holding her belly. He had stared at her, a little worried at her hysterics and a bit disappointed in himself.
"Are you done yet?" He had grumbled after a while, offended.
She had straightened up, looked at him and smiled: a happy genuine smile that had lighten up all her features. "Yeah." That smile had made him realize that even if she was still a scrawny kid she was cute and that he really didn't care if she laughed at him. In the matter of few months, they had become friends indeed, even best friends. The kind of friends who could confide in each other, who trusted each other unconditionally.
They spent most of time they weren't at school or with their families, together in the woods, shooting at all sort of game, fishing, checking the snare lines and collecting berries and herbs. Unintentionally he had started to shift his view of her, in the three years they had known each other she had started to become a young woman, a beautiful young woman, kind and considerate and yet determined and single-minded. The kind of woman every man wants to marry.
Silently she sat next to him, snapping him out of his memory lane.
He grinned. "You're late."
She looked him over, and answered him condescending, "You could have started without me."
He chuckled, "Nah, we got more than enough yesterday, there's no rush today."
And then she smiled, her beautiful sunny smile and he realized:he was in love with her.