A/N - Inspired by an hour I spent out on a grassy hill. Katniss and THG belong to Ms. Collins.
-a year before the 74th Hunger Games-
It's one of those times when I'm out in the woods without Gale. Usually when I'm out here alone I take the opportunity to trek to the lake, but I'm feeling lazy today. It makes me cringe to compare myself with Buttercup, but I guess I do feel like that worthless cat. I'm ready to curl up in the sun and take a nap with one eye open, watching for danger or prey.
I'm sitting in a field with dry, yellow grass as tall as my chest. It's mid-October, so everything's dry. The wind's stirring but not strong enough to be cold yet, especially in the afternoon sun. I followed a deer trail to this field, but I'm not feeling ambitious enough for deer. If a grouse happens to take flight, however…
I lean back against a spindly plum tree and play with the stiff grass, laying my bow across my lap so I have both hands free to weave. Not that I can create anything special, but just because it's what I did when I was younger while I was out here with my father. I made a family of grass people one day while he was hunting and I was supposed to be gathering plums. Just something I did when I was happy.
Happy. The word makes me pause. Am I happy? It's been a good week; Gale and I hauled in more game than usual. Prim said she was full last night after we ate. That always makes me happy. And there were at least a few times while Gale and I were hunting this week when I know I was happy. The 73rd Hunger Games ended more than a month ago, so that awful time won't come for another year.
I guess I am happy. I'm happy I have time to just sit and play with grass instead of spending every second hunting for sustenance. I absently finish my grass figure by sticking a twig through the body for arms. It's a tall grass person compared to the ones I made in the past. Maybe it's a father. I tuck it into a niche in the roots of the plum tree, where it's safe.
My legs start itching from the grass, so I stand up and brush off the broken stems. The wind carries the bits of grass away, and I realize it's not as warm as it was. I sling my bow over my shoulder and look down at the grass figure. I'm leaving it in a happy place.