Every morning, for all my life and who knows who far back after that, a Mockingjay woke me. He nested on my windowsill, often observing me with wide black eyes. Then at 5 thirty, he would sing a little song. Every day he changed it. That little Mockingjay reminded me to go to training, to keep my head up, even sometimes reminding me of Granite. Granite, who had been built like a twig, who had deadly accuracy with a bow and arrow. Granite never died, but often thinking of him living in District Four doing who-knows-what with Alana. "Alana, I swear over my dead body that your two tributes will be personally killed by me." I spat out, to no one in particular. The old Mockingjay whistled to get my attention. He cocked his head and almost smiled, as if he was saying "Go ahead, Clove Quars, go and kill the tributes, who belong to Alana, who stole your brother." Fine then. My brother had been living with Alana Odair, Finnick Odair's sister, who was the District 4 mentor after she won two years ago, the year before my brother. Go ahead.