Day dawned clear and cold as she returned from the woods. Off in the distance, the familiar call of a bird, and once again her mind wandered back to Rue. Twenty-five years later, and that small, strong voice was still clear in her mind. The woods were home; Peeta, Willow, and Rye would never quite understand. She shook the dew off her sleeves and pulled her braid out of her jacket, carrying fresh game from the morning's kill. Some things never changed.
Happiness had come back in small pieces, one year at a time. In the embrace of Peeta, his steady gaze. In the smile of her daughter, fierce and sweet, and the blonde curls of her son. Often the Games seemed like someone else had competed, as if Katniss were only a spectator, standing on the outside of her memories and looking in. She thought back to Rue as she strode into the market, noticing a child behind her mother's skirt peering at her, dark eyes fixed.
People still recognize me, she thought, quickly turning a corner. Her faced flushed as she walked away.
Stop being so stupid, you're a grown woman. That was a lifetime ago.
For years now Katniss had become accustomed to those who stared and pointed, whispered, and approached her with kind words, laced with awe, amazement, and even fear. But it never got easier, the reminders of the past. The Games, the revolution…
Put it out of your mind, Katniss!
Peeta was always so much better. So friendly, so approachable, always willing to shake a hand, tousle a child's hair. Conversation came so easily to him, and he still trusted the goodness of people. She, on the other hand, had nothing to say back, nothing to offer besides a forced smile as she quickly pulled Willow and Rye away. Shielding them from her past had become a constant mission. Aside from what they learned in school, the Hunger Games did not exist to her children.
But she never forgot. A loud noise, a sudden movement, and her reflexes came rushing back. Something she would never shake…
But years had passed, and peace had stayed. It became easier to convince herself that life was good, that they were safe. Katniss made her way home from the market, pockets full of coins after trading her game. She didn't need the money, her fame had brought its fair share of fortune, but to participate in normal life was the only way she knew how to exist.
The children were running through the yard as she approached. Willow, ten years old, was growing tall, lithe, and strong.
"Mom! Why didn't you bring me out to hunt? You know I wanted to go!"
"Rise before the sun, and you can join me next time," her mother chided.
"Ha ha, sleepyhead you lost out!" yelped her younger brother.
And with a flash of dark hair, Willow was off to chase him down.
Willow was headstrong and took after her mother – hunting was in her blood. She was skilled with a bow, but unlike Katniss at her age, she had no need to provide for her family.
She's almost of age for the reaping, Katniss thought.
Fear paralyzed her for a moment. Just for a split second before logic regained control, and her breath returned.
Walking into the house, she saw Peeta's warm smile behind the counter, his strong arms vigorously kneading bread. After all these years, Peeta's morning ritual always filled the house with the aromas of bread, the smell of comfort.
"How was the market?" He asked.
"Same as usual. Good hunting this morning. The cold is coming fast, though, I have a feeling it will be a long winter," she replied.
Katniss absent-mindedly sifted through the piles of clothes, mail, and other random items littered across the kitchen counter. What a mess; she shook her head. Suddenly, something caught her eye…a cream-colored envelope with peculiarly familiar script on the front. The corner peeked out from under the pile of discarded letters and papers. She grabbed it.
To: Ms. Willow Everdeen-Mellark
"What is this? Why did Willow get mail? How long has this been here?" Katniss turned the envelope to Peeta, asking hurriedly.
"I don't know, no idea. It's probably just from a friend. An invitation to a party or something," he replied casually, wiping his hands on his pants.
No…I know this writing, she thought to herself. Panic rose in her throat…she slit the envelope with a trembling hand, and overturned it. A small leaf of paper floated to the table, among it, a handful of deep red rose petals. Her heart jumped to her throat.
No, this couldn't be, he's dead…there's no way…this is some sort of a sick joke…
She unfolded the paper, eyes scanning quickly.
"Well what is it? What's the big deal?" Peeta asked innocently.
He handed him the paper wordlessly, displaying the simple message:
Let the Games begin…again.