The forest is quiet in the early morning hours and I find a strange comfort in knowing that I'm the only being awake out here right now. The sun is just thinking about rising, a soft, supple golden light illuminating the trees at the farthest corner of the forest and casting long shadows that stretch towards my feet. They sway in the wind like a symphony, hypnotic and mesmerizing, an intricate combination of rustling leaves and groaning bark. I stop on the precipice of my destination; it has been too long since I've been here, but I couldn't bring myself to come back without him. It looks just the same as I left it but the emptiness without his presence is tantamount. I turn on my heel, back the way I came, changing my mind. I don't want to be here in this place where the very essence of him is tainted into every leaf, every pebble, every overturned patch of dirt caused by his shoe. Not today.

I cross the meadow, now a grave of all those I once knew, slowly meshing back into the landscape with a covering of new grass and becoming less of a constant reminder of all we lost in the war. The trek back to the Victor's Village takes next to no time since I don't stop to admire the progress the people of twelve have made. Today I don't want to be reminded that people are moving on and happy and thriving. Today I want to be miserable and alone and wallow in pity. Today is Prim's fourteenth birthday.

I'm not remotely surprised to find Haymitch and Peeta standing on my front walk as I round the corner to my house. Okay, maybe I'm a little surprised to see Haymitch this early, but the glazed over look in his eyes tells me two things: One, he's drunk. Two, he never even went to sleep last night.

"Katniss," Peeta greets me as I approach them.

My lips remain firmly closed and I give a weak attempt to turn them up into a smile. I think it comes across more like a grimace by the reaction Haymitch gives me.

"Morning Sweetheart," he slurs. Definitely drunk.

"Hi," I manage to say. The look at me as if they're expecting something but I'm not sure what it is that they want me to do.

"Why don't we go inside?" Peeta offers. "I just started making breakfast."

Neither Haymitch nor I say anything so we follow Peeta to his house. As much as I want to be alone right now, I assume it would be quite rude to decline. Bacon and eggs assault my nose as I step into the front room which is identical to my own. My stomach growls loudly and I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I haven't eaten in a good twelve hours.

Haymitch and I sit placidly across from each other at the dining room table, neither saying much. What little manners I can think of right now want me to offer Peeta a hand, but the grief that is slowly choking its way up my chest threatens any words I try to utter to come out as a sob. Haymitch pulls a flask out from under the table somewhere and empties a substantial amount into the cup in front of him. I guess he's not having a good day either.

I'm suddenly aware of the fact that both Peeta and Haymitch are staring at me with confused expressions etched into their faces, and it takes me a minute to realize that without consciously deciding to, I've gotten up from my seat and am standing silently next to the table.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asks, concern lacing his voice.

"I appreciate this Peeta, I really do. But I'm not very hungry right now and I think I really just want to be alone," I say.

I expect them to object, to force me into the chair and spoon feed me eggs, but they don't. Haymitch takes a long drawl of his drink and Peeta nods understandingly.

"Of course," he says. "You go home. Maybe I'll bring by something to eat later for you, if you want of course."

I nod because I think it's all I can manage, faintly hear myself utter the word "Thanks," and tear out of the house. Only when I'm back outside do I realize that I've practically been holding my breath. I gulp the clean, cool air into my lungs and slowly walk my way back to my own house. As I push my way into the living room, a shrill ring comes from the phone in the kitchen. Instinctually I reach out towards it before I change my mind. I have a good idea as to who is phoning me but right now I don't feel like talking.

I quickly light a fire in the hearth and curl up against its mouth, willing the flames to warm the anguish inside of me. But all is does is remind me that the same flames I seek comfort in are the ones that are causing this anguish to begin with; are the ones that took my sister's life. The phone stops ringing and suddenly the house seems too quiet. I know it's cruel to shut my mother out like this, but right now her strength outweighs mine and I don't want her to see what a wreck I've let myself become today.

I cross my elbows over the hearth and lay my head across my arms, closing my eyes and allowing my thoughts to drift away. Peeta is the first thing that comes to mind. Sweet, kind, compassionate Peeta. Since he joined me back here he's done everything in his power to make sure that I'm alright, just as he always has. But every now and again I see that flicker, that shadow that crosses his eyes, as if his fingers still wish to reach out and wrap themselves around my neck. But just as quickly as the look appears, it is gone again.

I love Peeta, more than I think I can admit, but it's a strange love. It is born from a mutual need for survival and when removed from the environment in which it was created, festered into a relationship of comfort and compatibility. While I find nothing romantic between Peeta and I anymore, sometimes I still can't resist curling up in his arms to stave off the nightmares that have never left me. Lately I've been noticing Peeta spending more and more time with Delly, and while at first a jealous monster roared inside me, I gradually came to find relief in the fact that he is finding comfort in someone other than me.

The phone rings again and I don't think I can ignore it this time. I extricate myself from the tangle of limbs I created and pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Katniss?" Her voice is tired and I can feel her grief through the phone.

"Hi, Mom."

She sighs as if a wave of relief washes through her. "Hi, honey." We stay silent for a minute, neither all too sure what to say, before she continues with, "Are you okay?"

I briefly contemplate lying to spare her, but what's the point? Her sorrow and mine are one in the same. "No, not really."

"Me neither."

We're cut from the same cloth, my mother and I. She is clearly where I get my lack of ability to vocalize my thoughts from.

"I have a favour to ask you," she says. When I don't say anything, she asks me anyways. "Could you come visit me? I miss you honey, terribly, and I've already lost one daughter. I need you here with me, if only for a little while."

She always needs me, nothing has changed. I want to resent her for this but the simple fact is that I've spent the better part of my adult life taking care of her; me needing her would just be strange.

I contemplate the idea. While I don't particularly want to leave District 12, getting away might be nice. It's been hard watching Peeta spending his days with Delly, and Haymitch is always too drunk to be of any good company. And I do miss my mother, very much. Even when she was dependant on me she was still my mother, the woman who my father loved, the woman who gave me Prim.

"When?" I ask.

"Any time, the sooner the better."

Hearing her voice makes me realize that I don't want to wait to see her either. "How about tonight?"

I can practically hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Of course honey. Tonight is perfect."

"Okay," I say back. "I think there's an afternoon train to District 4 that leaves in a few hours, I'll be on that one."

But she stops me before I say anything further. "Actually, Katniss, I'm not in District 4 anymore. The hospital there was thriving so they asked me to help set up the hospital in another district. I'm in 2 now."

I sigh. Of course, of all the districts in Panem, she chooses to move to the one district where there's a person I'm trying to avoid. I've thought about Gale pretty much every day since I came back home, loathing and remorse and longing all tied into thoughts of him. I had spent so much time hating him, maybe it would do me some good to see him. Then again, chances are I'd just get there and chicken out on seeing him anyways. So I turn back to the phone and say to my mother: "Alright Mom, I'll be there by six."