"What is the power the dead have over the ones they leave behind? It's strange and beautiful and frightening, this deathless love that human beings continue to feel for the ones they've lost."

- Sangu Mandanna

PART I: STRANGER

CHAPTER 1

The crisp air of a fall morning nips at my red ears, hands, and nose as I trudge through piles of leaves in the woods. This kind of weather always reminds me of chilly mornings in November when I was young. Mornings that were spent hunting with someone by my side, looking out for me as I did for him. But we don't hunt together anymore. We haven't for years.

Crunch. A smirk creeps across my face. A single misstep by an animal leads to it becoming my dinner.

I slowly turn around, careful not to make a sound. To my surprise, it's not just one animal, but three rabbits standing several yards away from me. I pull an arrow into my bow and, after taking a moment to make sure my aim is right, I send the arrow straight into the fattest one. The others try to scurry off, but I'm quicker than them. I go over to where each one hit the ground and pick them up, first examining them for any sign of disease, then stuffing them into my pack. Looks like it's time to go.

I walk through the overgrown grass of the meadow and duck under the weak spot near the bottom of the fence. The spot closest to my old house in the Seam. It was nearly destroyed when they bombed the district, but now and again I still stop by. I decide to visit today.

When I get to the house, I say hi to Dandelion, Buttercup's only kitten. Turns out that after years of thinking Buttercup was a male, it was female all along. Buttercup died a few years ago, but Dandelion has replaced him. I named him Dandelion because of his yellow fur that reminds me of the flower. It just so happens that I saw Dandelion for the first time shortly after my wedding. I was still mourning over the death of my younger sister Prim, but seeing that darned Buttercup with one of its own reminded me that I could start over without Prim. That she would want me to.

Anyway, Dandelion was pretty much raised here, same as Buttercup was, so he likes to stick around. I check up on him every couple of days to make sure he's getting enough water. He's a pretty good hunter; I don't have to worry much about feeding him.

One thing I always do when I come to the house is walk from room to room. Nothing ever changes, but I feel like I have to keep things up. It keeps the memories close. I always go to our tiny den first. There's nothing much to see here except the half-crumbled wall and the picture of my father that miraculously survived and still hangs above the mantle. Next, I go to Prim's room, where I used to sing her back to sleep when she had nightmares. Her room never fails to choke me up. You can almost feel her presence.

I wrap up my visit by filling Dandelion's water bowl. He comes running through what used to be the bathroom doorway. I bend down to pet his head, causing him to purr. I laugh at him. "At least you're nicer than Buttercup," I say, then give him one last pat on the head.

The sun is not quite fully risen as I head back to my house. On my way home, I pass by the homes of some friends who are just waking up and beginning their daily routine. I could be sleeping in too, until six or seven o'clock like everyone else, if I wanted. But I've always been an early riser. Just as the moon and the sun meet each other in the sky, right when dawn breaks, is when I'm most alive. It's when District 12 is most beautiful.

By the time I get inside, the kids are already up.

"Good morning, Mommy," my son says. He's always the first one to greet me in the mornings. I smile down at him as he embraces me in our front hallway. He looks up at me with a smile that stretches across his chubby face. His short, blonde, wavy hair, as well as his baby-like face and tiny nose, are like looking into a mirror at his father – my husband, Peeta.

"Hey, Willy," I reply. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Mhm," he answers. "And I brushed my teeth just like Daddy said."

"Well, aren't you getting responsible?" I look down and notice he's still in his pajamas. I'm about to say something when Peeta rounds the corner. He smiles when he sees me, then crouches down beside his miniature version.

"Willard, I'm proud of you for doing what I asked, but you forgot one thing," Peeta tells him.

Willard looks confused for a moment, prompting Peeta to tap his shoulder as a hint. He looks between the two of us and then puts up his pinkie. "One second!" he announces before taking off to his room, where his clothes are laid out on his chair.

"Wrong finger!" Peeta calls after him, laughing.

"He'll learn," I say, chuckling a little as well.

"Why don't you come sit down and tell me what's for dinner?" Peeta suggests. He leads the way to the kitchen. I take a seat at the table and he sits across from me. I pull one of the rabbits out of my game bag to show him what I shot.

"Three of these and a squirrel," I say.

He takes the rabbit from my hand and examines it. "You didn't skin it yet," he observes, then looks up at me. "Visit day?"

I simply nod in reply. Peeta knows that the days I visit my old house in the Seam leave me feeling a little less than energized. I tend to be less productive on those days and get caught up inside my own head.

He hands the rabbit back and I stuff it back in my bag. "I've got some things to do today, so I'll probably call Thom to come over and clean the game for me."

"Why don't you call up Rory or Vick? I'm sure they'd be glad to help," Peeta suggests.

I give Peeta a blank look.

"It was just a suggestion," he says, putting his hands up in surrender.

I lean back in my chair and look down at my hands on the table. I fidget with my fingers to distract myself – and hopefully Peeta. He knows what I'm up to, though.

He sighs. "Katniss."

"Don't start on this again," I say.

"You can't avoid his family for the rest of your life."

"Yes, I can," I mumble.

"It's been thirteen years, Katniss. Don't you think you should try forgiving them now?"

"It's not them that need to be forgiven," I answer.

"Exactly! And we already see Posy twice a week when she delivers eggs. So what's wrong with seeing Hazelle or the boys?"

"They're not boys anymore, Peeta."

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks. I stare at him for a few moments, trying to will him to understand my aversion to his idea, but I can see it's doing no good. I shake my head and stand up. I'm about to leave the room when he reminds me one more time, "You can't avoid them forever."

I pause to consider this. I'm about to say something back when I realize he's right. I can't avoid them forever. I tried to, but like he said, it was impossible to avoid sweet Posy, who is now eighteen years old. But because I'm stubborn, I walk out of the room anyway.

"Mommy, where's my bookbag?" my daughter asks, appearing from the hallway just as I am walking into it.

"I don't know, where'd you put it?" I ask her.

Peeta appears from behind me with a yellow backpack in hand. "Is this it?" he jokes.

"Yes!" she giggles. She tries to take it from him, but he holds the bag above her head. She laughs even harder as she jumps with her arms stretched as high as they'll go, trying to reach it. After a few moments of play, he lets her grab it.

"Alright, put on your bookbag. Do you have your lunch?" I ask.

She nods.

Peeta calls for our youngest child. "Will!"

Willard comes slowly down the stairs, which he has not quite learned to confidently conquer yet, with his bookbag in one hand and his lunch bag in the other.

My daughter, Maysilee, looks at me. "Are you coming to pick me up today?"

"Sure am," I say, leaning down to kiss her head, then Will's. I wish them luck at school, tell them goodbye, and send them off. They rush out the door before Peeta, who pauses to give me a quick kiss. "Have fun at work today."

"I will," he says, and walks toward the door. Once he reaches it, he remembers something and turns around. "Oh, and Katniss . . . remember what I said, please." Then he leaves.

With them gone for the day, I sigh and go to the living room, then plop down on the couch. Since the war ended, we've been blessed with many luxuries that were historically reserved for the people of the Capitol. One of those luxuries was television shows besides The Hunger Games. I grab the remote control off the mantle and turn on the television. There's a program on about a girl trying to find her way out of a love triangle. I watch for a few minutes, then quickly change the channel when I realize I'm all too familiar with that storyline. The next show I find is a cooking show. Boring. I finally settle for watching a documentary on some celebrity stylist I've never heard of.

I quickly get up to get a glass of water once the show ends, hoping to make it back before the next one begins. When I return, I'm shocked to find that the next documentary in the line-up is based on someone I've met before. I can barely believe my eyes until the title screen comes up, confirming that the face I see on my screen is indeed who I think it is. Deserving Documentaries: Gale Hawthorne, it reads.

I snatch the remote from where I left it on the coffee table and turn off the TV completely. It takes me a few minutes to compose myself enough to turn it back on.

The entire hour-long episode briefly touches on his work during the war and the rebellion but was mostly centered around his life afterwards, though even that information was vague and mostly things I already knew from hearsay around town. He moved to District 2, got some well-paying job, started dating again. It felt almost like an invasion of privacy to be watching a show about his life instead of asking him about it myself. But I can't do that. It's been thirteen years since the war ended. If he wanted to see me, he would've found a way by now. Or would he?

I shake my head again to clear it. It's not safe to have these thoughts. These questions.

To this day, one of the only things that can help me make sense of the world is repeating facts about myself that I know to be true. I begin this ritual of mine now. My name is Katniss Mellark. I am thirty-one years old. I am married to Peeta Mellark. We have two children, Maysilee and Willard. They are at school right now. Peeta is at the bakery. Gale is in District 2. I'm not his friend anymore. He doesn't care about me, and he didn't care about my sister. And I hate him for it.

At some point during my recollection I guess I decide to go out, because the next thing I know, I'm walking out the front door with my game bag in hand. I'm making my way down the street with no particular destination in mind when I realize which direction I'm headed. I stop for a moment and sit down on the side of the street, my head in my hands.

My name is Katniss Mellark. I'm thirty-one years old. Peeta is at the bakery. The kids are at school. Gale is in District 2. And there is no reason for you to be walking toward his house.

"Miss, are you okay?" The voice of a man behind me startles me out of my thoughts.

I turn my head and look at him without seeing his face. The early morning sunlight is blinding me, and I have to shield my face to see the man. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the light. When they do, I gasp and jump to my feet immediately, looking him up and down.

"Katniss?" the man says in disbelief.

"Gale," I say breathlessly. Then my eyes harden.

Katniss Mellark. Thirty-one years old. I hate Gale.

"No," he laughs. "Katniss, it's me. It's Rory."

Confusion and disbelief take over my initial judgment that this was Gale.

"Gale's brother," he adds while eyeing me worriedly, as if he's questioning whether I lost my memory.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," I say. I cross my arms but attempt to loosen my stance. "How have you been?"

"Oh, I've been fine," he replies. He puts his hands in his pants pockets and leans against a street lamp behind him, as if he stops to chat with old friends in this very spot all the time. Then he gives the one-of-a-kind Rory smile that I'm glad to see he hasn't lost.

I feel myself warming up to him quickly, as much as I wish to remain nonchalant. "Yeah? How about your mother and Vick?"

"Mom's fine. She's kept up her friendship with your mom pretty well. I think your mom's at our place right now, actually." This makes me stiffen up slightly even though I already knew Hazelle and my mother had remained close. Hazelle, Gale, and Prim were all my mother had when I was in the Games. Rory continues, "Vick's getting too old for his own good. He thinks he's a real hot shot now that he's twenty-five."

Rory and I share a moment of combined laughter.

"So, I've seen your kids around. At the school and stuff. They're cute."

The question of why Rory has been hanging around the school flashes through my head briefly, but is quickly replaced by a smile at his compliment. "Thanks. They're growing up too fast."

"How old?" Rory asks,

"Maysilee's six, and Will's two. Almost three."

"Oh, that's funny," Rory says. "Lane just turned seven. He's in the first grade."

"Maysi is, too. Who's Lane?

"My nephew," he replies.

"Oh." I wonder for a moment who Vick married and if I know her. I don't ask him Rory for further detail, though. We drift off into silence. I look down at my feet, then see my game bag still sitting on the sidewalk next to me. "Oh! I was actually looking for you . . . sort of. Do you remember how to skin a rabbit?"

He looks at me like that's the most ridiculous question he's ever been asked, then begins to laugh. "Are you kidding? Of course I do! Where's your rabbit?"

I hold up my game bag. "Well, I actually have three. And a squirrel,"

He looks through the bag, then up at me. "You celebrating something?"

"No," I reply, a little confused.

"Then why the big hunting trip?" he asks.

I realize he doesn't know I still hunt. "I still hunt every morning. I know I don't have to, but I'm up anyway."

He nods. "I still hunt sometimes, too. It's not the same without Gale, but it's cool. Hey, why don't you walk back to the house with me? I'll get started with your rabbits."

We enjoy a walk to his house filled with casual conversation. How has everyone been, where's everyone living now, what have we been up to. It's not until the Hawthorne house, which was rebuilt with several improvements post-war, comes into view that I tense up. Rory glances at me with a funny look on his face. "You okay, Katniss?"

It takes me a second to find the reason behind my stress. "Yeah, I – is he here?"

He knows who I'm talking about without having to ask. "Nope. Still in Two for now."

I release a sigh of relief. After a minute of composing myself, I ask, "Has he been back?"

"Since the war?" After a shaky breath and nervous chuckle, he continues. "No. We haven't heard much from him. It's been tough. Especially for Posy. He was always her favorite brother. It was obvious, and Vick and I were okay with it. He was our favorite too . . . he was our protector. At first, when we came back to Twelve, he was all Posy would ever ask about. We always told her he'd come home to visit soon. But he never did. Rarely even called. The years kept passing and eventually she stopped asking about him. She learned to grow up without him. It kills me to think about it." He wipes at one of his eyes. "It makes me wonder if he even cares anymore. Or if he did at all."

"I'm sorry, Rory," I say after debating what was an appropriate response. I consider wrapping my arms around his shoulders for comfort, but he wipes his eye again and continues walking before I have a chance.

"It's cool," he says. "Have you heard from him?"

I consider saying no, but then I'd be lying. I can count two times when Gale tried to contact me after I moved back to 12. I didn't answer the phone either time. So I say, "Yeah. Only twice. I never answered."

"When?" Rory asks.

"When I first came back. I think you were still in Thirteen then."

I realize we're about four steps away from their front door. The sun is lowering in the sky, telling me it must be late afternoon, probably three o'clock. The sun is setting earlier these days as winter approaches. I'm distracted when Rory suddenly stops in front of me and says, "I wish you had taken those calls."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because you were the only thing keeping him from coming back. He was only going to come back if you were okay with it. And I guess he got his answer."

A/N (original, 2016): I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I haven't written a Hunger Games fanfic in years, so I hope everything is in character. If not, please let me know in your reviews and I'll try to fix it next chapter. Thanks to everyone reading and here's to hoping I'll write a story that everyone can enjoy! Please don't forget to review, it really does help to motivate me. The ideas and constructive criticism that my readers give is the most rewarding part of my writing!

A/N (new, 2019): Hi, everyone! Long time no talk! I just want to say that upon going through my old stories recently, I remembered how much I loved this one. I saw some errors that I wanted to go back and fix for my own sake, so as of right now I'm doing that as well as revising some parts that I wish were better-written originally. I MIGHT continue writing this story once I'm done with that, but I don't want to make any promises! Life has gotten so crazy for me in the past three years and writing a lengthy story like this takes a lot of time and dedication. I do want to thank everyone who stuck around for this story though. It means the world to me!