A/N The title of this story and the song within come from the Australian version of a Gaelic folk song, the Water is Wide. (Just in case you want to hear the tune.) The first 1,000 words of this chapter formed a drabble I wrote for javistg's birthday. Many thanks to her for the inspiration, to loving-mellark for the bee-U-tee-full banner and the amazing peetabreadgirl and xerxia31 for their general awesomeness.
I've been up all night, thinking, which is almost a welcome respite from reliving the nightmare of the Games in my dreams every night. The surge of relief that crested over me as they hoisted me from the arena was replaced almost immediately by a creeping dread, a suspicion that while I survived, I would never be free. The programmed speeches and pageantry of Victory Tour were already confirming this new truth when Finnick Odair hissed warnings in my ears as we clasped hands and embraced on the stage today in the centre of District 4. Smile, Peeta. You need to be careful. The Game is just getting started.
He kept it going all day while he played benevolent host, performing the requisite tour around his district, showing me the thatched homes that hugged the shoreline near the docks where the fishers pull in their catch to be loaded in train cars for the Capitol. As cameras rolled and on-lookers and hangers-on gaped at whatever maritime marvel the Capitol's golden boy had on display, Finnick passed behind me in the crowd, whispering under his breath. Watch your back, Peeta. When someone paid me a compliment over dinner, he made a face. They're going to love you in the Capitol.
His words are still rolling through my mind, hours after the day is done. The party guests have finally left the mayor's house. The prep team that is constantly primping and fussing over me has, at last, left me to my own devices. From my bedroom window in the usually vacant house on the cliff where the Victor's Village is located, I watch the waves surge onto the beach while I analyze all the possible meanings of his words, each one more frightening and depressing than the one before it. Unable to stand another second in my own head, I throw open the garden doors to the terrace, crossing swiftly into the garden and down the rickety wooden steps to the beach in the early dawn light. The sea water snakes around my ankles as I walk along the shoreline, the wet sand squishing between my toes.
There is a fence in District 12 that the Capitol claims keeps us safe from the wildlife, but really only serves to pen us in. There is no fence in this part of District 4. Instead, the ocean stretches endlessly before me. As the salt air fills my lungs, I stare at the horizon and watch the sun begin its ascent to the heavens, my heart lifting for the first time since my name was pulled from the reaping ball. I close my eyes, trying to hold on to this moment; breathe in the crisp clean smell of the ocean, clasping tightly to the soaring, fluttering feeling in my heart. I promise myself I will paint this moment later and hang it over the mantlepiece in that empty mausoleum they claim is my new home. I'll call it Freedom.
When her song reaches my ears, I freeze. This is a private beach, reserved for Victors and I saw no one when I came down the steps. From my spot in the surf, I follow the sound until I find her, sitting on a rock near the edge of the water, her long dark hair blowing in the breeze. Her olive skin glows in the dawn, drawing me in.
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
And neither have I wings to fly,
Build me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I.
I haven't quite made it to her side when she speaks, her back still turned to me.
"It took you long enough."
Her curt tone startles me.
"What? I don't know what you mean."
She whirls around and her eyes, the same hue as the sky before a storm, practically pin me in place. "I've been waiting for you all night, Peeta Mellark, while you stared out the window. Now the sun is almost completely up and I have to go."
She heaves a sigh and it's only as her chest rises and falls that I am able to tear my eyes from her gaze and realize her breasts are completely bare. My dick twitches to life as I gaze at them, round and soft, and much more natural than the surgically enhanced tits of the Capitol women in the dirty book my older brother keeps under his mattress back home. He managed to trade a bag of cookies for it from that peacekeeper, Darius.
"Well?" She's still annoyed.
I force my eyes back up to her face. "I'm sorry," I reply, wondering if women typically go topless at the beach in this District. "This is a private beach. I'm not sure how you got down here, but I don't think you're supposed to be here."
She gives me a puzzled look. "I swam up, of course. It's my 18th birthday. How else was I going to meet you?"
I gape at her like a fish. A half naked woman swam up on a beach to meet me?
"How do you know my name?" It's a stupid question, really. The whole country watched me wrestle a boy from District 2 to the ground and then slit his throat with my knife. I am a household name.
"It came to me in a dream," she says, as she slips off the rock into the water.
"You don't have to go back that way," I tell her and turn to point to the steps behind me. "You can just come up the steps. I'll get you a shirt in the house, and…"
She laughs, and when I turn to face her, she's already up to her waist in the water. "I'll be fine, Peeta Mellark."
I chase her out into the water until it licks at my knees. "Wait! I don't even know your name!"
Her arms sweep and swirl through the water, holding her in place. "It's Katniss," she calls, and then turns and jumps into the surf. And where I expect to see slender legs, the scales on her lower body glisten in the morning light. Her tailfin rises high in the air and then disappears, slipping below the surface.
My knife digs into the bark of the tree beside me, carving a deep notch. I don't know what possessed me to climb under the fence and start into the woods. I haven't done it since I was a kid, when my mother pronounced that as the littlest, it would be my job to crawl under the fence to harvest berries and apples. Produce from the Capitol was expensive and it often arrived overripe or full of worms. It didn't matter to her that I would be whipped in the square if I was caught. She said it would save our family's bakery some money, and none of us ever dared to disagree with her.
But this morning, after yet another restless night, I was overcome with a desperate urge to get out of the house. I had baked enough bread for an army the night before, so I made my way to the Seam and left loaves on as many doorsteps as I could before wandering over to the meadow full of wildflowers not far from the dilapidated shacks where the coal miners try to raise their children. The electric fence that surrounds our district skirts the edge of the field, but you can find spaces here and there to crawl under and go off into the woods. Eventually, I found a gap large enough for a man to slip through and scrambled beneath the wire.
I stayed close to the fence when my mother sent me foraging as a child, but today, I am following a trail that leads deep into the trees. It must have been made by Gale Hawthorne. His father died in a mine collapse when we were kids and Gale was left to provide for the huge family that was left behind. He crawls under the fence routinely to hunt and then sells what his family doesn't need for extra money. The peacekeepers turn a blind eye to his poaching. I've never been able to figure out if that's because they enjoy the fresh game, or they know that no one else has the nerve to so blatantly flaunt the law. He used to routinely stop at the bakery and sell to my father, but not once has he made the trip to the Victor's Village to sell to me.
I always envied Gale when we were in school. He wore rags every day, but no one ever gave him the pitying looks they gave to me. Gale was the fierce provider for a family who adored him, unafraid of the unknown dangers of the woods. I was the guy who routinely showed up with bruises on his face. If Gale had been reaped instead of me, his house in the Village would most assuredly not be empty with only Haymitch Abernathy, my 'mentor', next door for company.
Not that Haymitch is much to look up to. The one time he sobered up enough to chat, he said I should be glad my family refused my offer to move in with me. That it's better that way. And since I sleep with a knife on the table beside me, I guess he's probably right. I left the Arena a killer. If my mother were to lose her temper and get up to her old tricks, I'm not sure what would happen.
I pull my knife from my pocket again and cut a notch into another tree, glancing behind me to make sure that I can still see the last one. I hope I'm doing this often enough to be able to find my way back out. I'm not excited by the idea of being in the woods after dark. There were some nights hidden along the banks of a stream in the Arena that I'd rather not relive.
I've been hiking for over an hour when I hear the song of the mockingjays on the breeze and the hair stands up on the back of my neck.
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er...
It's the song, the one that poked into my mind as I drifted off to sleep, all winter long. It still is, actually. When Cato looms over me bragging about how he plans to use the massive rock in his hand to crack open my skull, the silky sound of her voice soothes my soul. Music I surely imagined, but in the dark of night, I seek it's comfort without shame.
The birds soar over my head and sing snippets of the song to each other from the trees, while my heart pounds wildly. It is not possible. Surely, the dark haired beauty on the beach in District 4 was the product of an exhausted and troubled mind. Mermaids do not exist. I knew this before I met her, and still I'd combed all the books in the library of the house in District 4, looking for any tales of seafolk. I'd searched the books in my house too, and found nothing but disappointment. The medical books on the effects of anxiety and exhaustion, on the other hand, were more helpful.
I carry on with my walk and another bird swoops down from the sky, perching high above me in an ancient oak. It has a new line.
And neither have I wings to fly…..
I try to remember everything I've ever been told about mockingjays. They aren't supposed to exist. They are a hybrid of the jabberjays the Capitol created to listen for any rebel activity in the districts, and the simple mockingbirds whose song once filled the forests of Panem. They only repeat what they hear. Which means, someone, not very far away, is filling the air with a song I heard for the first time six months ago. But that's impossible.
She wasn't real.
I press on, slashing at the brush blocking my way with my knife; inexplicably following the bird song ever further into the forest, even as I mentally kick myself for giving into the hallucination. When the trees begin to spread out, an expanse of blue peeks out from between them, stopping me in my tracks. I had no idea there was a body of water out here. Of course, other than Gale Hawthorne, no one in District 12 truly knows what lies beyond the fence. And judging by the brush I've just cut down, it's possible that even he's never been this far into the woods. I pinch my arm, just to make sure that I'm not dreaming. It's then her voice drifts to me on the breeze, luring me in. My feet propel me forward and I lack the will to stop them. When at last I step out of the trees, I find myself on the shore of a small lake. The jagged peaks of the mountains rise high beyond it, and the shores are studded with evergreen trees.
She's floating in the water today, her song flying toward the sky.
I leaned my back up against an oak,
To find it was a trusty tree,
I found you true, love, when first you spoke,
'tis true you are, and ever shall be.
My feet have barely touched the sand when she speaks.
"Do all humans sound like thunder when they move, Peeta Mellark, or does that honour belong solely to you?"
Just like last time, she leaves me speechless.
"I'm sorry?"
"I heard you approaching about a league ago."
"How did you know it was me? And how did you get here?"
She sighs and rolls over onto her belly, before swimming closer, her arms cutting through the water in graceful strokes.
"You have a lot of nightmares."
Right. My breath comes out in a frustrated huff. More vague answers from the apparition who is not supposed to exist. This is stress, exhaustion, loneliness. What it's not, is real, and I need to stop entertaining this hallucination and just go home. I've already started back towards the woods when she calls out to me again.
"Peeta Mellark, wait."
My hands slap against my thighs as I turn around. She's sitting in the shallows now, and for the first time, I can see her shape clearly. Long dark hair that frames a heart-shaped face. Olive skin, cast over a form that is both slender and sleek. Her breasts are still bare, and between them is nestled a shell that hangs from some kind of braided rope tied around the column of her neck. And while her beauty has me wishing for my paint box or a pencil; her tail, glistening like jewels spilling from her lap into the lake, lends her an ethereal quality I know I will never be able to replicate, no matter how many hours I spend mixing colours.
She bites her lip and twirls one long, wet strand of hair around her forefinger. "I'm not good at explaining things."
The distress on her face tugs at me, but I stand my ground. "Try." So much for my plan to ignore her.
"There aren't many merfolk left, Peeta Mellark," she says with a scowl. "Fewer still that allow themselves to be seen. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?"
That is a very good question. I want to know everything about her, especially what she wants from me. I sigh and travel back across the sand, crouching down beside her.
"Tell me." She gives me an annoyed look again. "Please, Katniss."
She swallows and trails a finger through the glassy surface of the lake. "On the eve of her 18th birthday, a mermaid dreams of her mate," she says, softly. "And she can, if she chooses, leave our home to seek him out, wherever he is, as long as there's a natural body of water."
I'm stunned by the implications of what she's saying. I found her on the beach in District 4 on her birthday, after all. I can't process what that means just yet. Instead, I ask how many actually seek out their 'mate.' This, it seems, is easier for her to answer.
"Almost all seek the one they dream of, but not many of us dream of a human mate. Usually, it's a merman. The maids who dream of human men usually think it's better, safer to just stay away. Live their lives alone."
"Why?"
Her eyes flash when she answers. "It's dangerous, Peeta. The waters aren't safe like they were long ago when merfolk were plentiful. We seldom leave our home because of it. Men don't trust their eyes anymore. They don't believe in magic. And a maid needs to decide if he's worthy of be trusted with the knowledge of our existence."
I'm surprised by the idea that she thinks I could be worth anything. My family certainly doesn't think so. The Capitol reveres me for being a killer.
"And what do you think, Katniss? Am I worthy?"
The fire in her eyes dims, and then she closes the shutters, looking down into the water yet again. "I haven't decided yet."
I grin and then rock back on my heels until my rear settles in the sand. "You'll make up your mind when you find out that I can't swim."
The expression on her face is so incredulous, it makes me laugh. "How is that possible?"
"Well, when you grow up in a district where there's no place to swim and you start to work as soon as you can hold a cookie cutter, swimming isn't exactly a priority."
Her tail splashes in the water and she scowls so fiercely that I have to hold up my hands in defence.
"Okay, okay," I chuckle. "But I'm not technically supposed to be out here, and I didn't know this lake existed until today."
"Someone knew. Once," she says, with a nod to an empty concrete structure near the shore of the lake. I guess people must have lived here, once upon a time, before the Dark Days.
"Yeah," I swallow. "A long time ago."
"Why aren't you supposed to be here?"
How do you explain to someone who seems to be able to travel at will about a fence that keeps us penned in like animals? "This place is…" I frown, not sure how to make her understand. "Beyond the limits of my district. Being here is… dangerous, for us."
A wrinkled forms in her brow as she considers my words. "Like when we leave our home." I think about the dangers she could face - fishing boats, sharks, scientists and their endless batteries of tests.
"Something like that," I tell her and am relieved when she accepts my explanation and starts to scoot away from the shore.
"Get in the water, Peeta Mellark, and I'll teach you to swim." I hesitate. The last thing I want is to make a fool of myself in front of the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, real or not. Human, or otherwise. A wave of water washes over me, bringing me back to myself. She's laughing, her tail still poised in the air. "What is this? A brave warrior such as yourself afraid of a little water?"
She thinks of me as a warrior? "I'm not a…"
"Get in, Peeta Mellark, I'll decide that for myself."
"Peeta." I correct her. "Just Peeta."
She frowns. "Your name is not Peeta Mellark?"
It is, I tell her, as I struggle to my feet and wrestle out of my shirt. "But humans have more than one name. Peeta is the name my parents gave me, like Katniss," I explain from the inside of my shirt. I manage to get out of it and toss it to the ground before reaching for the button on my pants. "But Mellark is my family name. It comes from my father." I drop my pants onto the sand and step out of them, before gathering it all up to hang over a nearby bush.
When I turn back around, clad only in my shorts, her cheeks are crimson. "It's alright if you see me," I reassure her, though I'm amused that a bare-chested mermaid is embarrassed by a little skin. "I don't mind."
She crosses her arms whips around, turning her back to me. "Put your skin back on, Peeta Mellark. I have not agreed to have you yet."
"Nor have I," I remind her. "And I thought you wanted to teach me to swim?"
She whips around and sputters, "But I can see your legs!" She waves her arms at me. She's so indignant, I'm finding it hard not to laugh.
"Yes, Katniss. Every human has two of them. They're covered by skin." I frown down at the red scar on my left one. "I was lucky to keep that one. Cato cut it right to the bone. Another day in the arena and…" I stop forcing my mind of that track. Nothing good ever comes from me dwelling on the games.
She folds her arms under her naked breasts and sends another impatient scowl my way. And suddenly, I get it. She's never seen clothes before.
"I can't remove my skin, Katniss. And I can't swim in my clothes," I explain, gesturing to the fabric heaped on the unfortunate alder.
"Clothes?"
"Clothes," I explain. "Humans wear them to keep us warm and to protect our skin. But we don't wear them swimming. But I've left my shorts on, you have nothing to worry about."
She looks at me intently for a few seconds before whirling around and swimming further out into the water, muttering to herself. I think I hear the words 'mother' and 'fit' cross her lips, while I stand stand on the shore in my shorts wondering whether to just get dressed and go home.
"I don't hear any noise back there, Peeta," she calls over her shoulder, "Are you coming or not?"
Right. Swimming. For the first time in my life with a creature who's not supposed to exist. Still, if we don't go out too far, it shouldn't matter. As long as I can put my feet on the ground, I should be fine.
I take a deep breath. The apple blossoms are still on the trees and it's probably too soon for swimming, but I plunge into the icy lake anyway. It steals my breath away.
Katniss looks at me smugly. "It's spring fed," she advises just seconds after my testicles go into hiding. When the water is at my stomach, I suck in another deep breath.
"This is far enough, right?"
"Nope." She pops the p and holds out her arms. "Your first lesson is to learn how to float. I need you to lay across my arms." I push through the water until I'm beside her, the water flowing around my chest.
"Come on," she says impatiently, waving her arms in the water. Lay down on your stomach. I won't drop you."
The skepticism must show on my face, because she rolls her eyes. "Just jump up here, Peeta. I'll catch you. The water will support most of your weight."
A few seconds later, I'm surprised to find myself stretched across her slender limbs. This close, I can see the strength in the sinewy muscles of her arms. I try to focus on those rather than the soft breasts pressing into my side. And for the first time since I waded out here, I'm thankful for the frigid water.
"You need to relax your body, let the water do all the work."
It's impossible to relax, with my face just inches from the lake. "Talk to me," I beg.
I hear, rather than see, the scowl. "About what?"
"Anything you want," I reply. "Tell me about your home."
Her body goes rigid for a minute, and I bite my lip and hope that she doesn't drop me. Then she exhales slowly.
"My home is in a city that sank below the waves many years ago," she begins, and entrances me with a tale of a great city full of people. Humans, who lived at peace with the merfolk who lived in the sea caves near its shores.
"Before the Dark Days?"
She gives me a confused look and I ask if it occurred before the great war that destroyed most of the human population. She frowns. "The Time of the Sky Fire? No, well before that."
I don't know what to say to that. Our education in District 12 began with the Dark Days. I know nothing of the time before. Katniss seems to ignore my silence and takes it as a signal to continue.
"It was very common then, for a mermaid to dream of a human mate, and if she accepted him, they lived freely, between the land and sea. Their children were of both. It was a time of harmony and peace for both our peoples. We flourished. The merfolk farmed and cared for the sea and the humans did the same on the land. We lived that way, in seclusion, for generations."
I try to imagine being free to live as I choose, rising to bake bread for my children. Watching them play and then carrying their lunch to the beach before diving beneath the waves. Little faces swim into my imagination, one with rich, dark locks and blue eyes; the other with piercing grey eyes and blonde curls.
"What happened?"
"There was an attack in the night by an army. My people heard the pounding of their weapons under the water and when they came to the surface, the air was full of screams and fire. They were farmers and fishers. Pitch forks and tridents were no defence against booming weapons that breathed fire. The invaders wanted our wealth, and our secrets. Many of our people were trapped on the land. Men, women and children; it didn't matter. They were all slaves to be sold, abused. And while they stole our crops and raided our city, those who were trapped on the land managed to protect their families and convince their captors that the stories of the merfolk were only a legend."
I am so engrossed in the story that I hardly notice when she loosens her grip on my chest.
"My ancestors, those who were under the sea the night of the attack, took their families deep into the sea caves. More than half of our population was gone and they were very afraid the enemy would attempt to enslave us. They were even more afraid of what would happen to the people they loved who were trapped in the city."
She drops her arms suddenly, and I am shocked to realize that I am still floating on the water. She slips around to face me, with delight in her eyes and a pleased smile on her lips.
"You're doing great, Peeta. Now, move one arm to your side and you'll flip to your back." I do as I'm told and am surprised to find myself staring into the sun. I close my eyes against it while it bears down against my chest, bringing a welcome warmth in contrast to the icy water below me. Our faces are so close together that I can smell the sea on her skin and her eyelashes tickle my temple. Her hands rest on my sides, just below my sternum. Even in the cold lake, her palms feel like fire against me. My boxer shorts are clinging to me and I think of every unsexy thing I can imagine until I'm certain my body isn't going to betray me.
"So how did the city end up underwater?"
Her cheeks twitch into a frown. "Those of my people who weren't in the city the night of the attack hid in the sea caves for days upon days, waiting for the invaders to leave. But our waters were full of fish and the fields were fertile. Then, they began to see our men being used as field hands. They were ragged and hungry. There was no sign of the women or children. The elders began to fear the worst and a council was called. A group of volunteers agreed to go on a rescue mission. The first Katniss was among them."
She must feel the way I startle because she tightens her grip on me. "The first Katniss?" Katniss explains that the names of the volunteers who snuck into the city are passed down in each generation so that they are not first Katniss was a priestess and a fisher. She led the volunteers into the city using the underwater tunnels that led to caverns beneath it.
"To the invaders, the caverns seemed to have no value, but they were all-important to our people. They were used as a sacred space, where marriages were performed between the merfolk and the humans, where children with merblood took their first swim, or first came to land."
"Did they get them out?
Katniss is quiet for a minute, and then she shakes her head. "They came to ground in the middle of the night and snuck into the city. It was silent, and it smelled of rot and decay. The guards were asleep at their posts. They made their way to the centre of town. The Army had moved into the homes that surrounded the marketplace. The men were being held in a pen that had once been used for cattle. They were chained together and the chains were staked to the ground. They were starving. Beaten. The children were..." She inhales deeply, and I feel her quiver, as though she is reliving this story instead of telling an ancient tale. "The children were dead. Stacked up in the middle of the city for burning. And the women, well…" She trails off, unable to carry on.
I don't need her to tell me what happened to the women. They would have been spoils of war to be used at will, nearly as disposable as the children. I push my feet down and stand, turning to find her staring off into space with glassy eyes. She shakes her head and blinks back the tears. I touch her shoulder and speak her name softly.
"Sorry," she says, trying to shake it off. "They teach us the story from an early age. I know it happened a long long time ago, but it's real all the same." She takes a deep breath. "The men's eyes - they were empty. The first Katniss was filled with grief and rage. She had begged the elders to launch a rescue mission immediately, and they had refused. Now the children were dead, the men were broken and there was no way to know what the state of the remaining women would be. She seized a flaming torch to begin the search when another volunteer stilled her hand. He told her they were probably dead. That it would be better if they were all dead and then he pointed to the barrels of powder that they knew belonged to the invaders."
I began to trudge through the water back to shore, imagining the volunteers, moving through the streets of an ancient town, rolling the barrels in front of them. The guards, asleep on the job, must have been arrogant enough to believe the only remaining risk was a few escaped slaves.
I settled on the beach to dry out and Katniss perched on a rock beside me, her tail dangling into the water.
A breeze blows and goosebumps break out on my arms and legs.
"My people rolled the barrels down into the caves. Katniss threw her torch onto the pile and my people leaped into the water, following Katniss through the darkness and back to the sea. A roar echoed from under the city onto the water. Fire blew out through the caverns, sending rocks and earth flying high into the air and sinking the invaders' ships. The next morning, as my people tended the sea, a powerful shudder moved through the water rattling their bones as though their bodies were a gong that had been struck. Thinking they were once more under attack, they raced toward the surface, only to find that city was crumbling and the island sinking into the sea. By nightfall, it was gone."
I say nothing for a few minutes, listening to the birds sing while the lake laps at the shore. Katniss flicks her tail against the water and looks at me expectantly. Waiting for me to judge her ancestors or something? Not likely. "They were right, you know? After something like that, you're just not the same anymore."
Her silver gaze sharpens, wordlessly demanding I explain myself, but I'm too cold for that, so I stand up and start looking for stones to place in a circle. I rip out some dry grass and find some brush near the treeline and drag it back to the shore. I heap it all into a pile and set about using the only skill I learned at the Training Centre that is good for anything outside the arena. I quickly coax a fire out of two sticks and soon it is crackling away. Katniss says nothing, watching the whole procedure curiously.
"You are cold?"
I nod as I head back for the treeline, intent on snapping off some larger branches to feed the fire. "It's a bit early for swimming, really," I tell her as I return, settling my foot on the centre of the branches and snapping them in half, over and over, until I have a small, useable pile. I crouch down and begin to feed them to the fire.
"Tell me about your nightmares."
I frown. I don't know how she knows about my dreams. I don't want to talk about them - ever. "They're not dreams," I say, using a stick to poke at the coals. Sparks fly high into the sky.
She purses her lips, and turns her face to the sun. It is high in the sky now, practically noon. "They are memories?"
"Yes."
"Yours?"
It seems like an odd question, but I tell her yes anyway. "How do you know about them?"
Her eyes meet mine. "We are connected, you and I, until I make my decision."
This seems rather unlikely, but then, the whole thing is completely crazy. Still, the connection explains her song in my sleep. I poke the fire some more.
"I hear you, at night."
She stares at the fire, twisting a lock of her hair into a tight coil around her finger, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. "You are not alone in the dream world as long as the connection between us exists."
Oddly, this feels like a comfort rather than an invasion. "What if you decide you don't want me?"
Her eyes snap from the fire and onto me, the flames flickering in her pupils. "Then you will forget and I will go home."
"And what about me? Do I have a choice in this?"
Her tail twitches in irritation. "The final choice must be yours. Made freely. My people mate for life, Peeta Mellark. This is not a game."
I don't know where the bark of laughter comes from inside of me, but I feel it cross my lips, wrapped in a long repressed fury.
"Trust me, I know all about games, Katniss."
Her tail slaps against the water, and the fire stutters as the spray rains upon it. She drops down into the water and begins to push herself out into deeper water. Before long she's waist deep and I'm still sitting on the beach with sand in my underwear.
"I'm going home," she calls, and dives beneath the surface.
I'm left on the beach with a dying fire. I sigh and push myself up into a standing position, pull on my clothes and throw some sand on the coals to smother them.
I stand at the edge of the water, now transformed into a sheet of glass. I wait, hands on hips, for her to resurface, but she does not. Nothing is left except for the smouldering remains of my fire and her song on the air. Finally I sigh, brushing the sand from my hair and turn to the woods. I begin the long walk home and for once, my mind is not on the Games. Instead, I'm dwelling on whether I'll ever see her again, if in fact she was real. And then her parting words echo in my ear and I can't help but wonder if questioning what I saw is all part of the process of erasing her from my memory.
I'm just not sure that I want to forget.