I'm sitting bolt upright and my heart is pounding. I don't even remember what I was dreaming, but I'm exhausted. Maybe this is just how my body has adapted to the nightmares… I can block them out, but it doesn't mean I get much rest. At least they're less frequent than they used to be. It's earlier than I usually get up, but I need to get ready for the horde that will be taking over my house.

Sae has done a remarkable job keeping my house looking fairly tidy and clean, but since no one uses the guest bedrooms, they've remained untouched for a while. The three extra bedrooms are fairly sparse, but despite the lack carpeting and much furniture, they still smell a bit musty. I open the windows to let them air out and do my best to shake out the curtains and wipe the dust off the dressers and headboards. All of the beds have mattresses, but I only have one spare set of sheets and a few extra blankets. Hopefully these people are coming prepared.

It takes me most of the morning to clean my house. I didn't intend on cleaning everything, but once the spare bedrooms were done, I felt like I should pick up in the living room, shake out the rugs, stuff my mail into a drawer, even fill a small vase with water and put in a few late blooming fall wildflowers that grow near my back steps. And then because my living room is so clean, I scrub the tile in the bathroom and find a fresh bar of soap to put next to the sink. And then I decide to tackle the kitchen.

Before I know it, Haymitch and Peeta are knocking on my door and telling me that it's time to go to the train station to greet our guests when they arrive. I'm completely grimy and covered in sweat, so I invite the two of them in while I go get changed. Both of them look a little surprised as they take in the sight of my super clean house, but neither comments as they sit on the couch to wait for me.

I put on one of my nicer shirts, a soft grey tunic with long warm sleeves and the same tawny pants I wore yesterday. I splash some cool water on my face, braid my hair, and head back downstairs.

"Ready?" Haymitch asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply.

As the three of us walk quietly towards the train station, I start feeling really nervous. I've been so preoccupied with cleaning my house, that I haven't given myself the opportunity to think about the implications of having people living in my house. I try not to care about what other people think, but for some reason it's easier to do that when I know them. There's something about people I've never met before that makes me care a little more about the impression I make on them. I try telling myself it doesn't matter what they think of me, but it gnaws at me and makes me uncomfortable.

I'm not at all prepared for the amount of people that get off the train. There must be fifty or sixty people. My mouth goes dry and my hands start trembling a little. I look at Peeta, and even he seems a little off-put by the large group streaming off the train. He catches my eye and gives me a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder, shakes off his disconcerted look and replaces it with one of confidence. It bothers me sometimes how quickly he can adapt himself to any situation.

Just about everyone getting off the train seems jovial and excited, chatting and laughing amongst each other, pulling their bags, suitcases, and even small wagons behind them. They divide themselves into a dozen smallish groups, and each group has a paper with a number on it. My group is number seven, which has assembled a few yards to my left. I catch a few of them looking at me, and they quickly avert their eyes. I decide to assume they just know they will be staying with me, and that they weren't staring at me with some kind of morbid curiosity regarding my past.

I walk over to the group and they shake my hand, introducing themselves. Althea and Talon Perthshire are perhaps in their late twenties with the same red hair and grey eyes. Though brother and sister, they are practically identical and have a tendency to finish each other's sentences. Rooney and Saffron Wellwood are both a little older than the twins, and have a son named Yule who must be about six. His little arms are wrapped around his mother's legs and his dark eyes peek out at me from behind her.

I hear a squeal behind me, and turn around to find myself face to face with Delly who throws her arms around me and starts exclaiming how happy she is to see me and be back home, and how much fun we're going to have… the physical contact is a little overwhelming, but even I have to admit that her enthusiasm and genuine gladness to see me makes me feel almost happy.

The whole crowd of people, worldly possessions in tow, walks down the Victor's Village road, with a handful people siphoning off at each house and going inside. Peeta and Haymitch walk into their houses with their guests trailing behind them, and I am left opening my front door to the five people who will be my somewhat unintended house guests for the next few weeks. The twins take the upstairs spare bedroom next to mine, and Rooney and Saffron take one of the downstairs bedrooms. The extra bedroom is used for storing the various bags and boxes both families brought with them.

As much as I had thought about spending the next few weeks in woods avoiding everyone, I knew that both Greasy Sae and Haymitch would never let me. I had resigned myself to the idea that it would be my job to hold hands and get things organized, map out the roads around town, and show people where the bathroom was. But this couldn't be further from actuality. I am completely useless. Both the Perthshires and the Wellwoods are so self sufficient that within a half hour of them arriving, I am drumming my fingers on the kitchen table with nothing to do.

A knock at my door snaps me out of my boredom trance. It's Peeta, and he's carrying a large burlap laundry bag. "Sae said you might need some extra sheets," he says, dumping the bag into my open arms.

"Yeah, I really only have enough for me. Thanks," I say, hugging the bag to my chest, "How's your group settling in?"

"Good I think. They're pretty tired though, so we're going to postpone our big dinner until tomorrow. Sae's been cooking soup all morning, and we have more than enough for our three houses for tonight. She said she'd bring it by later." I nod, feeling almost disappointed that everything is already taken care of.

Peeta studies my face for a minute and asks, "Do you need anything?" You, I think. It actually surprises me a little that this the first thing that pops into my head. Nope, not an answer I'm willing to voice out loud. Instead, I let out something between a snort and a laugh that I'm sure would make Effie cringe. "I wish I did. Then at least I'd have an excuse to go do something. The only helpful thing I've been able to do since they got here is to stay out of their way."

"Same here. I've been baking though, and that helps," he says, "You should hunt. We could use some extra food for tomorrow, and whatever we don't use, there are nine other houses that would benefit from it." Why do I never think of these things? Maybe because I'm still not sure I'm ready to resume my life as it was before, but I don't want to admit that. So I give Peeta a smile, grab my bow and my game bag, and tell him I'll stop by his house later with whatever I catch.

The walk to the fence seems to take no time at all. Though slightly overcast, the sun is shining through the clouds and keeps me warm despite the chilly air. I slide under the fence without even thinking about it. I hesitate for a minute, wondering why it's so easy to do this today but not yesterday and decide that I should't overanalyze it. Maybe it's as simple as people needing me to provide them with food.

The leaves on the trees are turning various shades of brown and orange, and many of them have already fallen. I try to remember when they started changing, and I can't recall. I've wasted too much time holed up in my room. The dry leaves and thick underbrush that carpet the ground make walking quietly challenging, but the forest is teeming with animal sounds, promising a fruitful hunt.

My aim is off. I spend a little while practicing on trees until I think I've gotten the hang of it again, and it comes back to me. The snares are still where Gale and I left them, unset, but for whatever reason my knot tying ability isn't rusty at all. Within three hours, I have two rabbits, three squirrels, and a turkey stuffed into my game bag. I also find a bunch of chestnuts which I unceremoniously stuff into my pockets and the bottom of my bag. Not bad for being my first hunt in at least a year.

I make my way back to the fence and pull myself and my game bag under it. It's very late in the afternoon, but something in me wants to visit the site of my old house before I go back. Maybe I just need to reassure myself that it's still there, like a memorial to my old uncomplicated life.

Nothing's changed. It's still a scorched foundation of stone and ash. There's nothing left to take from it, since we had already moved all of our belongings into my the Victor's Village house long before the district was attacked. I hear a rustling behind the foundation and let an arrow fly into the fourth squirrel of the day. As I remove the arrow and add the squirrel to my ever-growing stash of food, a thin piece of charred pink material sticking out from a pile of leaves catches my eye. I make my way over to the pile and attempt to pick up the material, but when I pull, it doesn't budge. Strange, I think, and push the leaves out of the way to see why it's stuck.

It takes me a minute to process what I see. White bones and patches of fur. And the remnants of a silky pink ribbon, frayed and burned, and tied just underneath the skull of what can only be Prim's goat, Lady. My heart starts racing and I can't breathe. I start choking trying to take in deep gulps of air, and I can hear myself making some kind of awful noise that sounds like I'm being strangled. I need to get away, so I crawl to the other side of the foundation and throw up what little breakfast I ate this morning.

I sit there for what seems like an eternity, arms around my legs, rocking myself back and forth, trying to even out my breathing. When I feel less lightheaded and my heart stops pounding, I do the only thing I can think of doing- I start digging a hole in the ground. It seems fitting that Lady would be buried here anyway, in the same grave site that my old house and my old life are buried in. I don't even have a shovel but I alternate between using my hands and using a flat stone from the foundation. There hasn't been a hard freeze yet, so the ground is still soft enough to make a shallow grave. Still, dirt imbeds itself in my fingernails and little rocks gouge my hands. By the time I'm finished, my hands are so stiff, scratched, and cold that I can barely feel them, and I am completely covered in dirt.

I carefully pick up Lady's remains and place her in the grave. I untie the ribbon, placing it in my pants pocket, and cover up what's left of my sister's beloved goat with cupped handfuls of dirt. Filling the grave takes a quarter of the time it took to dig it. It's dark when I'm finished, and I place the flat stone on top of the grave site to mark where it is. I feel like I'm drugged. Everything I do seems sluggish and oddly dreamlike.

I don't remember walking back to the Victor's Village. I barely remember the look on Delly's face when she opened Peeta's door and saw me standing there, ragged and dirty, clutching the game bag with bloodied hands. I do remember Peeta trying to pull me inside, but all those people are standing there looking at me, and I don't want to be near them. With an exasperated noise, Peeta pries my fingers off my bag and sets it on the floor. Then he scoops me up and carries me up the stairs. I can hear him talking to me, but it sounds like he's really far away.

"Katniss? What happened? Did you fall or something? Look at me… Katniss?" I focus on his lips moving. His hand on my face trying to force me to pay attention to him. The curl of blond hair that falls carelessly over one of his eyebrows. "You need a haircut," I tell him.

"And you need shower. Can you handle it from here?" he asks. I'm vaguely aware that I'm sitting in Peeta's bathtub. But I'm not really sure what he's asking of me, and I stare at him, trying to figure it out.

"Oh-kay. We're going to get you cleaned up, alright? Let's get this off you…" Peeta says, as though talking to a child.

My boots are the first to go. He peels the dirty tunic off of me, and carefully unbuttons and removes my pants, which are not only covered in dirt but now sport gaping holes at the knees. Shivering in my underclothes, he turns on the bathwater. The hot water burns at first, but starts to feel good as I regain warmth in my extremities. Suddenly I'm fully aware of where I am and remember Lady and digging the hole with my hands. Tears start streaming down my face and I can't stop them.

"Kat- what's wrong? What happened?" he asks. But I can't put it into words. I say the first benign thing that comes to mind, "I got dirt on you," and I start crying even harder. Somehow, Peeta seems to connect the mud that covers his shirt and arms with the reason I'm so upset.

"No, Katniss, it's fine… it's okay, see," he takes off his shirt and throws it into the pile of dirty clothes that has accumulated on the floor, " I can get clean too." He takes off his trousers and is left standing in a pair of dark blue boxers. He steps into the bath, shutting off the water and sitting down behind me. He cups his hands and begins dripping the warm water on me, sloughing off mud that runs in rivulets down my arms and into the bath. Then he unbraids my hair and after wetting it with his hands, massages in shampoo that smells just like his hair. His fingers caress my scalp as shampoo bubbles slide down my back. Every now and then I hear him murmur, "it's alright" in my ear.

The warm water and the sound of his voice calms me. It takes a while, but I stop crying and my mind feels clearer. I turn around so I'm facing Peeta, meeting his eyes. He's looking at me with a mixture of concern and unanswered questions, but simply says, "hi." His hand reaches up and gently wipes what can only be a muddy smear on my forehead. A little shiver runs down my body.

"I found Lady. She's gone," I whisper. My emotions threaten to boil over again, but I steel myself against them and force them back down.

Peeta is quiet, and I realize that he's trying to place where he's heard me mention Prim's goat before. I forget sometimes how twisted his memories are. But he seems to recall it, and says slowly, "Lady was the goat you bought for Prim. You told me the story of how you got her when we were in the cave…"

"Real," I say, before he has the chance to ask.

He doesn't offer me his apologies or condolences. Instead, he just takes one of my hands and starts cleaning the grime out of the cuts and scrapes. When he's finished, he starts on the other one. The water is starting to cool, and I'm thinking about just drawing more hot water so we can sit in the bathtub for hours. A knock at the door reminds us that there is only one bathroom in a house full of people, and that we need to vacate as soon as possible.

I pull myself out of some of the dirtiest water I've ever seen, and Peeta does the same. It's then that I notice he's turned a slight shade of pink and his eyes are fixated on the soap dispenser. There can't be too many reasons why Peeta would do this, and sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed when I see that my thin undergarments leave absolutely nothing to the imagination when soaked with water. I do my best to cover myself with my arms.

"Peeta?"

He's still staring at the dispenser. "I'll get you something to wear…"

He disappears out the door, shutting it behind him. A minute or two passes and he comes back in with a towel and a bundle of clothes. He hands them to me and quickly turns to leave, but in the mirror I catch him taking in the sight of me and shaking his head before he closes the door. Clearly averting his eyes was far more for my comfort than his.

I towel the water out of my hair and take off the undergarments, hanging them to dry over the shower curtain pole. Peeta's left me with a pair of pants that tie at the waist, which fit me well enough. The shirt, while very comfortable, is large and hangs off me. I'm not sure about the pants, but the shirt definitely belongs to Peeta. I feel a little weird wearing his clothes, but what other choice do I have at the moment? Besides, it smells like him, and that's almost always given me an indescribable sense of security.

The bathroom is immediately occupied by a girl of about twelve, who shoots me an irritated look as soon as I open the door. I guess I'm good at making friends everywhere I go.

Peeta's not in his room, so I go downstairs. Someone's lit a fire in the living room fireplace and the whole room is toasty and glowing. Everyone seems to be in the kitchen, so I round the corner and stand by the door frame. Delly, Peeta, two older men, and one young woman with long dark hair stand around the table chatting. The three people I don't know cease talking immediately and look at me, probably trying to figure out what my current mental state is. Delly grabs two bowls, pours soup into them and hands them to Peeta. He shoots her a grateful look and walks toward me, indicating with a nod of his head that we should eat in the living room.

We sit on the floor in front of the fire, backs pressed up against his couch. Our shoulders are touching, and we sip our soup and watch the little flames waiver and spark. It's funny how after all this time, watching fire doesn't really bother me, even though it probably should. Peeta must be thinking the same thing because he keeps his eyes on me, looking for any signs that I'm going to relapse into the catatonic state I was in earlier. But I don't, and after a while, he seems to relax.

"I'm sorry for… you know… for how I've been," I say to him after a while. Now seems as good a moment as I'll get to clear the air and try to repair some of the damage between us.

His words come out in a rush, "You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry… I shouldn't have pushed you to go out, or just drop in to your house because I wanted to see you. It's not fair to you, and I don't want-"

"Stop," I say, before he can devalue every action he's ever taken regarding me. And he stops. I choose my words carefully, "I don't want to be the half person I've been since I came back here. I want to feel better, feel whole or alive or anything but how I've been feeling. And I don't think I can do that by shutting you out."

I've never been great at putting into words how I feel, but I think I've managed to express my feelings accurately to Peeta. He accepts what I have to say with a smile, and doesn't try to turn himself into the reason why we've been so distant. We spend the rest of the evening talking about little things, like how one of the men staying with Peeta plays the fiddle, and how turkey I caught should be cooked. At some point in the evening, my head ends up in Peeta's lap, and he plays with my damp hair as it dries by the fire. One by one, I hear the house guests retire to their rooms for the night. No one bothers us.

I drift into sleep, lulled by comforting hands and the warmth of the fire. When I wake up, it's still dark outside and I'm wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Peeta's sleeping in the armchair next to me. I'm dismayed by the loss of bodily contact with him, but given his penchant for thinking he's pushed me too much, I'm hardly surprised.

I feel bad that I've completely abandoned the people staying at my house, and hope that Greasy Sae had the good sense to bring them the soup she made for dinner. I get up and kiss Peeta's cheek, offering him silent thanks for taking care of me. He barely stirs. I grab my dirty clothing out of the bathroom, put on my boots and head out the door. Every part of me protests at the thought of leaving to go back to my cold empty bed, but I feel somewhat obligated to at least pretend to play the part of the host.

The empty pots and bowls in my kitchen indicate that Sae has not forgotten to bring by her soup. Relieved and feeling less guilty, I strip off my pants and climb into my bed. I know that I won't have a good excuse to continue wearing Peeta's shirt tomorrow, but for tonight it stays wrapped around me.