Author's Note: I had every intention of writing something eloquent and heartfelt here, but this chapter is already woefully delayed, and I know that's what you're here for. ;D Suffice it to say: I am overwhelmed by your love for this story. I've fallen unforgivably behind at responding to readers, and I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you – the favorites, the follows, the reviews, the lovely PMs, even those of you whose presence is only noted by a tally in my Story Stats. :D The Guest reviews in particular have blown me away. I love that this little story has resonated with you and I hope that you will return for each new chapter to share the journey with Katniss and me.

Ch. 4: Family and Farewell

Later that evening the white bear came.
"Do you come with me?" asked the white bear. "I do," said the girl.
~East of the Sun and West of the Moon, retold by Kathleen and Michael Hague

I've been anticipating the knock all day, and still I'm paralyzed by the sound.

He's here. Peeta Mellark. Come to take me away from my home and family forever. I can't breathe for the sudden crushing panic in my chest. I've seen him bloodstained, dirty, and wounded; painted gold and glowing like an ember. Which Peeta is standing outside our door? The Capitol-crafted fashion plate? The baker's son, hefting flour sacks as easily as I pick up a rabbit? The warrior, who killed a bear three times his size?

Before I can recover myself, Prim's enthusiasm gets the better of her. She runs to the door, throws it open, and hurls herself into Peeta's arms – well, arm – on the doorstep. His left arm is curled at his shoulder, hefting a massive burlap sack, but he manages to catch and hug her back with his right arm without losing his balance or dropping the bag on her head. His surprise at her affectionate ambush quickly warms to a smile as he rests his chin on her hair.

"Thank you, Peeta," Prim says, squeezing him tightly about the waist. "Thank you so much for everything." At least, I think that's what she says. Her face is buried in his white bearskin, muffling her words.

"You're entirely welcome, Prim," he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Over her shoulder he adds, "Good evening, Mrs. Everdeen. Good evening, Katniss." His face is bright and flushed; he looks happy and a little nervous.

Happy…why is he happy? Happy to have company in his Victor's Residence? It's only me, so that can't be right. Happy to have another servant, maybe? And why is he nervous? I'm the one leaving behind home and family – everything I know – to follow him into the woods and do whatever he wants for the rest of my life!

His mood irks me, though I can't think why, and my fear begins to settle, leaving me cross and a little confused. It's only Peeta Mellark, after all. Still, always, wearing his Victor's bearskin, but he looks younger tonight; recognizably a sixteen-year-old boy. My classmate till six months ago. A kind, generous boy, but a boy nonetheless. Not yet a man. Nothing grand or glorious or frightening.

Peeta gently breaks Prim's embrace to step inside the house and lower the burlap sack to the floor. "Please apologize to Lady for me," he tells her. "I wanted to send something earlier, but I wasn't sure if pregnant goats need special food."

Startled, Prim stares at him, then at the bulging burlap sack. I step a little closer. I recognize the stamp on the bag. It's high-grade feed, the kind they give the goats at the creamery. I've never priced it but know it must be exorbitant. Peeta's brought fifty pounds of it.

Prim gives a little sob and hugs him again, even harder. Never mind the rich food and fine clothes; Peeta's just saved Lady and her unborn kids. And with that, Prim is entirely his. Quite possibly a little in love with him, even.

Of course, falling for Peeta was never a long drop for Prim – for almost anyone, really, who saw his Games. What he and Larkspur planned in training is anyone's guess, but from the moment they left their platforms, they were inseparable. With his strength, Peeta might have had a shot at the Cornucopia, but he simply grabbed the first knapsack he came to and ran for Larkspur.

He pushed her ahead of him as they ran into the woods, shielding her from the blades and screams with his body. We didn't see them for a while after that; they were alive and hiding during the bloodbath and therefore – in the eyes of the Gamemakers – boring. The knapsack, we learned, contained flint, a tin of spices, a small saucepan, and a blanket, which Peeta wasted no time in wrapping into an outer garment for his small district partner.

For a pair of Merchant kids, they did all right. Someone in training must have taught them about pines, because Peeta split a trunk with an improvised wedge and harvested as much of the soft inner bark as he could, stuffing every available pocket with sticky handfuls of it. For the first two days, their meals consisted of toasted pine bark chips and "snow soup," a simmered broth of stones, spices, and pine needles.

Weaponless, they stripped fallen branches to improvise clubs and searched out small sharp rocks for use as projectiles. Peeta collected other things too, odd things – moss, loose bark, different types of soil and resins – which we later learned was for camouflage. The toast design he created for the parade, amazing though it had been, paled in comparison to his masterpieces in the arena. Every night until her last, he wrapped Larkspur in the blanket in his arms and literally painted them both into a tree trunk or rock formation.

Peeta was remarkable at keeping both their spirits up, at treating the Games as no more than a challenging outing. Larkspur played along, but it was painfully clear that he wasn't fooling her – or himself, for that matter. Their first night in the arena, as he tucked her into his arms, covering her bright hair with a crude cap of moss and bark, she said in a small voice: "Peeta, I want to go home. I want to kiss a boy and have a toasting."

He smiled down at her, his bark-painted face eerie in the moonlight. "I'm going to do everything I can to make that happen," he promised her.

Coming from the boy who'd guarded and fed her and practically made her invisible, it gave even resigned little Larkspur a breath of hope. "Thank you," she whispered. She nestled her head under his chin and promptly went to sleep. Peeta closed his eyes too and, within seconds, his meticulous bark-paint was streaked with tears.

Everyone knew why, of course. Peeta wanted to go home just as badly as Larkspur did. He was, allegedly, in love with some girl from Twelve, a girl he'd said he wanted to win for, but he couldn't save both himself and Larkspur. He would clearly never hurt Larkspur himself, so either he'd have to watch her die or sacrifice himself for her and never see his girl again – or, likeliest of all, both he and Larkspur would end up on a Career's blade.

Their third day in the arena, they struck up an alliance with Rue, the dark, birdlike girl from Eleven. Larkspur had befriended her in training, it appeared – they were of an age, Larkspur being thirteen and Rue a highly resourceful twelve – and she eagerly agreed to serve as their lookout in exchange for a little of Peeta's camouflage. Rue was a remarkable climber: she could dart up the scrubby pines like a squirrel and even scale the lower rock faces of the mountains. She brought back eagle eggs and edible mosses and taught Peeta and Larkspur the simple snares she'd perfected.

Rue was also, thanks to her slight build and quick, subtle movements, a reasonably successful thief. She had already mastered the art of skimming from the fullest pot – that is, pilfering from the Career's abundant supply stores. In just three days she'd managed to steal an assortment of gloves and scarves, a parcel of crackers and dried meat, and most impressively, two utility knives. She split all her takings with Peeta and Larkspur without hesitation, even giving them one of the knives.

On the fourth evening of the Games, Rue announced gleefully that the Career pack was roasting an elk, and she was going to their campsite to steal a haunch of meat to share. Larkspur begged her not to go; Rue was fleet and stealthy, but she'd never stolen quite so boldly from the Careers before, and a feast like this was clearly intended to draw out the hungriest tributes. Rue told them it was Glimmer, the blonde girl from One, on watch; she was strong and carried a bow, but she wasn't particularly clever or even a very good shot. Just the same, I had a bad feeling – the feeling you have during any Games when the members of an alliance split up and you know one or more of them will be dead before they meet again.

The other three Careers were dozing in their sleeping bags when Glimmer, perched on a log beside their roasted kill, heard the rustle overhead. With her finely-honed instincts, she swiftly raised her bow and shot an arrow into the tree cover. A soft thud resulted.

The dark girl from Two sat up. "What was that?" she asked.

"Another damn eagle, I think," Glimmer replied, getting up to investigate.

If it had been an eagle, she'd have missed.

She went over to the source of the sound and grinned wolfishly down at little Rue, who lay at the outermost edge of their camp, still blinking but clearly broken from her fall, with an arrow lodged in her throat. "I think it's our thief," Glimmer called back. "Clove, you want the honors?"

Rue reached up with one shaky hand and bravely tugged the arrow out of her throat. The cannon fired.

The dark girl, Clove, came over and frowned down at Rue's broken body. "Why'd they give her a seven?" she puzzled.

Glimmer shook her head. Her thick blonde braid was dirty but still lusher than any girl's in Twelve. "You want anything of hers?" she asked Clove. "Or should we just throw her out?"

The Career girls rummaged through Rue's garments, and, turning up nothing of value, finally tossed her body out of the circle of firelight. They returned to their camp, Clove to her sleeping bag and Glimmer to Cato, the brutish boy from Two who'd observed most of the proceedings with mild amusement, propped up on an elbow.

"To the victor go the spoils," Glimmer smirked as she slid into the sleeping bag beside him. He smirked back, a hot, bestial look in his eyes. I knew where this was going and was grateful Prim had already gone to bed. After a great deal of fumbling and tugging, Cato had Glimmer underneath him and was bouncing his body against hers, making satisfied grunts.

Clove gave a mildly disgusted scoff and flopped over in her sleeping bag.

Rue's face appeared in the sky, and Larkspur cried herself to sleep in Peeta's arms.

The next morning, three of the Careers woke to violent abdominal cramps and a cannon shot. Glimmer was dead, her beautiful face contorted with pain. It appeared they had all consumed some kind of poison, and she had suffered the worst effects. Cato, repulsed, dragged her body out of the sleeping bag and flung it as far away as he could. Clearly, his lust of the night before did not extend to sentiment for the girl he'd coupled with.

Peeta and Larkspur, both lean and pale from their small, inadequate meals, tried the snares Rue had taught them; beginner's luck was with them and they caught a thin rabbit within an hour. Peeta skinned and gutted it – Larkspur couldn't bear the thought – and roasted it with a sprinkle of their precious spices. Peeta warned Larkspur about eating too much too soon, but he quickly caved before the stark hunger in her eyes. She gratefully ate her half of the rabbit as well as a good portion of his, her eyes wet with gratitude.

"We'll catch another," Peeta assured her, but his smile wavered with fear and uncertainty.

Their bellies filled – or, at least, not longer quite empty – they reset their snare and had walked no more than twenty paces when they heard a snap, a whoosh, and a whimper. There was every indication that their snare had caught something far beyond their abilities to contain, and the Gamemakers must have been playing for suspense and a bloodbath, because the audience didn't see what had happened until Peeta and Larkspur did.

It was not their snare that had been triggered. Peeta and Larkspur moved cautiously toward the sound to find a girl – a pale, red-haired girl; the silent, foxlike tribute from Five – caught in a net, suspended a few feet off the ground. There was something surreal about the scene, as though she'd been fished from a lake. Surreal – and foreboding.

"We have to help her!" Larkspur cried.

"Please…" the red-haired girl begged.

The feeling of foreboding intensified. Peeta must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment before taking off his knapsack, pulling out the knife Rue had given him, and going to the trapped girl.

"Thank you," she whispered as he carefully sawed away at the ropes.

He had very nearly cut her free when Larkspur shrieked, "Peeta, look out!" He whirled about to see Marvel, the dark Career boy from One, hurling a spear from ten yards away. Peeta dodged the spear, dropping Rue's knife, and charged the boy.

Peeta was no killer – he hadn't even fought with another tribute yet – but he knew there were two vulnerable girls to protect, and he had no weapon but his body. He wrestled Marvel down – the Career was strong but whipcord-lean – and snapped his neck, then turned back to see Larkspur on her knees, Marvel's spear protruding from her stomach.

On our battered sofa in Twelve, Prim screamed and burst into tears.

Peeta ran to Larkspur and tugged the spear out, but death was coming, rapid and inevitable as the blood soaking the front of her jacket. The red-haired girl wriggled out of the remains of the net and tried to help, but Peeta shoved her away, screaming like a madman. She disappeared into the woods like the fox she resembled, and Peeta slumped to his knees on the snowy ground, cradling Larkspur against him, his right hand pressing her stomach in a feeble attempt to staunch the blood flow.

Tears of pain and sorrow spilled down Larkspur's dirty, pale cheeks as she gazed up at Peeta. "I j-just wanted to kiss a boy and have a toasting," she whimpered, her breath a rasp.

"I can help you with part of that," he murmured. He was crying too. Larkspur stared up at him, her breath shaky and eyes uncomprehending.

As a breathless Panem looked on, Peeta raised Larkspur's chin with a blood-slick hand and pressed his lips to hers. It was a real kiss, not passionate, but not a timid peck either. Huddled in my arms on the sofa, Prim's sobs were broken by a gasp of awe. My own eyes burned.

"That was my first kiss," Peeta choked out, stroking Larkspur's tear-stained cheek with a bloody fingertip. "I hope it was okay."

It was a lie, of course. A boy like Peeta – popular, good-looking, athletic – has had his first kiss by the time he's Larkspur's age. But it might have been the kindest lie I'd ever heard. I rubbed at the wetness on my cheeks.

Larkspur's eyes grew wide with wonder, even through her pain. "Who were you saving it for?" she whispered.

Peeta leaned down to bring his lips near her ear. Whatever he said made her grasp the front of his jacket fiercely. "You have to be the one, Peeta," she said, shaking him a little. "You have to go home. Go home…a-and love her…"

Her grip on his jacket fell slack. The cannon fired.

Peeta sobbed and pulled Larkspur's body tightly to him, tucking her lifeless face against his neck and rocking her. It was clear he would have cried himself hoarse – sick, even – but he remembered Larkspur's other request and knew the hovercraft would be coming soon. He laid her body gently on the ground and bathed the dirt, blood, and tears from her face with his shirttail, damped with snow.

I still think the only reason the Capitol showed what Peeta did was because it was so confusing to anyone outside of Twelve. He built a tiny fire, then from his knapsack he took the package of crackers Rue had stolen from the Career's campsite the night before she died. He held two crackers over the flame till their pale edges began to darken, then he blew on them a little, to cool, and placed one in each of Larkspur's hands. "For your new home," he said softly, kneeling down to kiss her forehead.

He kicked snow and earth over the fire, closed his knapsack, and retrieved Rue's knife from where he'd dropped it below the net. After a moment's thought, he reluctantly picked up the spear as well.

People forget that Peeta only had the spear to kill the white bear because he took it from Larkspur's body.

He wiped the blade clean on his shirttail, then trudged away into the woods.

And now that tribute – the gentle baker's son who gave a dying thirteen-year-old girl her first kiss and a farewell toasting – hugs my little sister, his strong arms tight across her back. He saved her life today with his rich gifts of food and coal and clothing, and tonight he's saved her livelihood – her beloved goat and kids – with the costliest feed in the district. A few rotting vegetables would have sufficed.

I hear a muffled sob and realize it came from me. I drag a hand across my eyes and sniff hard, blinking back tears; Mom's hand brushes my arm and I give her a weak smile.

Peeta holds Prim back a little, his hands at her waist. "The coat looks beautiful on you," he says, smiling.

Prim's cheeks glitter with tears of joy and gratitude. I never knew tears could be so sweet. "It's perfect," she whispers.

"Did you check all the pockets?" he asks. His blue eyes are dancing. For a moment he looks exactly like his father when he gave Prim the boots.

Prim frowns, puzzled. "What…oh, yes, there was a cap in this one!" She reaches into one hip pocket and takes out a pretty yellow stocking cap, embroidered all over with red rosebuds. Clearly, another gift from Peeta. She must have found it this afternoon; I hadn't even seen it yet.

She pulls it on over her blonde braids, grinning, and reaches into the other pocket. "And I keep my mittens in – oh!" She gives a squeak of surprise and pulls out a small paper bag that clearly hadn't been there a moment before.

I know this game, though Prim might not remember it. Dad used to play it: sneaking a treat under your nose and waiting for you to find it. Little – but precious – things, like a shiny pebble or a new hair ribbon or, on very special occasions, a colorful piece of candy. I'm truly impressed by Peeta's sleight of hand; he would have done it when he held Prim by the waist, and I hadn't noticed a thing.

Prim opens the little bag and peers inside with a squeal of delight. "Peppermints!" she cries. She tips the bag to dispense four of the round red-and-white swirled candies and passes one to each of us before taking the last for herself.

Peeta obligingly pops the peppermint into his mouth, smiling at Prim's response to both the surprise and the gift itself, and I'm struck by the realization of what a wonderful father he would be. A wealthy, kind, pleasant-enough-looking young man; he's bound to marry soon. I wonder if I'll raise his children.

Prim looks up at him, suddenly bashful. "Vick Hawthorne says you have a pony and cart," she says.

Guilt gnaws at my stomach. Peeta sent that enormous basket of food, carefully chosen and clearly intended for our family, and I gave half of it to the Hawthornes without batting an eye.

"I do," Peeta answers her solemnly. "But during the winter I drive a sleigh." Prim gapes as she tries to envision this, and Peeta grins back at her. I realize I know what he's going to say next, and I wonder how much of this he planned ahead of time. "Would you like to go for a ride?" he offers.

Prim's eyes go wide as saucers. "Can I?" she breathes.

"Well, that's really up to Katniss," he says. "We're on her time now."

He looks at me and the words fall out. "We gave the Hawthornes some of the food," I blurt. "Um…half of it, actually. Was that okay?"

Peeta's expression is unreadable. I wonder if I've ruined everything, if I've broken the deal by sharing the food with people outside my family. "Did you have all you wanted?" he asks me.

"Yes–"

"And you, Prim?" he asks her.

"Oh, more than enough!" she says. Sweet, good Prim. It's not a lie, but it's still more convincing coming from her. "It was all so good!"

"Then of course it's okay." Peeta's smile returns and I breathe a sigh of relief. Standing beside me, I think Mom does too. "Do you mind then, Katniss?" he asks.

In my concern over the food, I've already forgotten the question. "If I take Prim for a quick sleigh ride," he adds.

"No. Please," I tell him, a little woodenly. I don't believe anyone's ever asked my permission in anything, let alone to do something nice for my sister. "Take as long as you like."

He smiles in reply. I wonder if he mistook my strange tone for reluctance. "Shall we go, then?" he asks Prim, offering his arm.

She links her arm through his. "Yes, please!"

They walk out, a pretty pair of fair-haired Merchant children: Prim in her beautiful cranberry coat, cheery new cap, and fine boots; Peeta in his radiant white bearskin. They'd make a splash in town, but something tells me they're not leaving the Seam. Something tells me Vick Hawthorne will have more tales to tell after this evening.

The door closes behind them and Mom turns to me. "Katniss, this is…difficult for me to say," she begins.

"Then maybe you shouldn't," I say. I realize that, since Peeta's visit last night, she and I haven't really been alone together. There were moments – in the bath, in her room – but Prim was always nearby. I'm not sure I want to hear whatever it is Mom couldn't say with Prim around.

When she does speak, it's not at all what I expected. "Please don't think that I don't know – or appreciate – all you've done to keep our family alive," she whispers.

"I don't," I lie weakly.

"No, you do – and you're right," she says, startling me. "Right to blame me. After…your dad…I was ill. If I'd had medicine – the herbs we grow now – maybe I could've treated myself. Love is…cruel sometimes." She looks abruptly older, hollow, when she says that. I'm glad love is not a complication I'll have to worry about.

"This bargain…" She frowns delicately. "I don't want to lose you, sweetheart. If it had been up to me, I'd have turned him down; you know that. But again – as usual – you've saved our lives."

I can't tell if this is praise or not. My face feels hot and uncomfortable. "We…needed the food," I say feebly.

"Yes, we needed the food," she agrees. "And the coal, and grain for Lady. Peeta's been…incredibly generous."

I hear what she's not saying. All we needed was a little bread and meat and maybe a vegetable or two; Peeta gave us all of that and cake and custard besides, to say nothing of restocking our pantry with oats and flour, honey and tea. We were cold, so he gave us both coal and blankets, when either one would have sufficed. The very best feed for Lady, and the finest clothes for Prim.

"Peeta's special, Katniss," Mom says quietly. "I didn't know about the bread, but it doesn't surprise me. I believe he'll treat you well, better than he's treated us, even."

I doubt that very much, but it's not worth the argument. "Maybe," I hedge. "I don't think he'll…hurt me, if you're worried about that."

Her lips tighten. The answer is yes, then. For all her compliments toward him, she is afraid of that – making me suddenly wonder if I should be too. I bite back the quaver in my voice. "Mom, you don't think –"

"When you made this bargain, you said you'd do anything for him," she interrupts, her voice harsh but shaky. She doesn't quite meet my eyes. "I know how you feel about owing, about paying people back, but…Peeta might not see it that way. Please…don't feel you have to give him anything he doesn't ask for."

I don't have a great imagination, but it doesn't take one to realize where she's going with this. My cheeks burn. "Like what, Mom?" I challenge, daring her to say it. I half wish Peeta was here for this conversation. The conditions of my stay with him have escalated into a riddle – an unsavory one. And of all people, Mom should know better; she was the one who discussed it with him.

Her eyes shift to meet mine, and for a moment I see pain and regret and the fierce maternal love I've ached for these five hungry years. And for that moment I both love and hate her, more strongly than I ever have before. I want to hug her and shake her, scream at her and cry in her arms. I want her to tell me that I'm saving their lives with this bargain, and I want her to tell me she's found another way so I don't have to go. I want her to acknowledge me as a woman and comfort me as a child.

Of course, we do none of this. She blinks and the maelstrom of emotion fades from her eyes. The moment passes. "Did you pack oil for your bow?" she asks me. "You've been so diligent about it this winter; I know you wouldn't want to forget."

"No," I admit. She goes to the kitchen to fetch my oil jar and cloth, and I occupy myself with needlessly unpacking and repacking my foraging bag to find the optimal spot for the oil. We're both good at this, going through the motions to pass the time, to evade conversation and each other's eyes. We manage to exchange little more than a "thank you" in the ten minutes before Prim returns.

Prim and Peeta tumble through the front door in a flurry of pink cheeks, frosty air, and sheer delight. Without even pausing to kick the snow from her boots, Prim bounds over to hug me soundly. "Oh, Katniss, you really are the luckiest girl in the district!" she squeals. Her breath is cool and minty in my face. "The pony – he's called Rye – is so sweet and gentle! I was a little scared because he's so big, but Peeta let me feed him a piece of apple and a sugar cube and he took them right out of my hand!" She wiggles her mittened palm to demonstrate, grinning. "And the sleigh is so beautiful!" she gushes. "It's like a wagon, only it's curved and green and there's even –"

She looks over at Peeta guiltily; he raises a brow at her – it feels like a light-hearted warning – and she redirects her next remark. "We drove past the Hawthornes' and Vick and Rory came out to see us and say thanks for the food. Oh, and Vick said something about Gale owing him now?" she wonders aloud.

I force a chuckle but don't reply. My decision to share our food with the Hawthornes forced Peeta into an awkward position. Of course he would take Prim there, let her show off for Vick and Rory. The Hawthornes, like most Seam folk, keep to themselves, neither seeking nor spreading gossip, but Vick – and maybe Rory too, if he was really curious – wouldn't have been able to resist. Not with a sleigh and a pony and a fur-cloaked Victor outside their house. They would have peppered Peeta with questions about our bargain. I wonder, in spite of myself, what he told them.

Peeta draws a thick, sealed envelope from under his coat and gives it to Mom. "If anyone gives you trouble after Katniss leaves, bring this to the nearest Peacekeeper," he tells her. "Even if it's a Peacekeeper who's causing the trouble, this should quickly settle the issue. I spent most of the morning at the Justice Building and explained the particulars of our arrangement to Cray; he agrees that there shouldn't be any problems, but it's best to take precautions."

Good, kind Peeta spoke with Cray – about me? I feel a little sick at the thought. Of course, our Head Peacekeeper is no stranger to bargaining with desperate souls, but never would he have traded so generously. His idea of a fair deal is a few coins in payment for a night in his bed. More than a few starving girls – and women; wives and mothers, even – have voluntarily submitted to his lust to put food on their tables. It's become almost a rite of passage in the Seam, trading your innocence to feed your family.

It's yet another horror Peeta has spared me – spared us all, really – and yet another thing I owe him for.

Mom turns the envelope in her hands. It's unaddressed, unmarked in any way. "What is this?" she asks.

"Katniss's residency documents," he replies. And, judging by the thickness of the envelope, a lot of money besides. "Her designated dwelling has been changed to my Victor's Residence."

I wonder how much that must have cost him. To do it officially – to have a piece of paper endorsed at the Justice Building –

"You'll find you have accounts with every Merchant in the district," he goes on. "If you're concerned about being cheated, my father and Marko are authorized to deal on your behalf." He pauses, smiling slightly. "Marko's brighter than he looks," he assures us. "He's probably a better trader because of it. People tend to underestimate him."

Mom nods and, to my surprise, returns his smile. "Thank you," she says. "It's been…some time since last I traded in town. I'd be grateful of the assistance."

"I've also arranged for a cash fund," Peeta says. "There will, no doubt, be things you need that I haven't thought of."

I doubt that very much.

"The safest way to manage it was through my father," he adds. His tone is careful, as though bracing for argument.

Mom looks at him strangely. "We're to go to him if we need anything?"

Peeta shakes his head. "No – that is: you can, but there should be no need for it. Dad's planning to bring you fresh bread at least every other day," he explains, "so you'll see him often enough. If you need anything – food, money, anything at all – simply ask him then."

Somewhere at the back of my mind, it occurs to me that these are the sort of arrangements I thought Mom and the baker would have discussed this morning. "That sounds…very fine," Mom says. I'm astonished at her calm. Beside me, Prim is practically dancing. "But won't that be out of his way?"

Peeta grins. "Not in the least."

We all recall it then, and the extravagance of the bargain is almost ridiculous. You will have a new house, he'd promised. To which kind, guileless Marko had added, We're gonna be neighbors, you know.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you into the new house tonight," Peeta says, and the regret in his voice says that he tried. Probably very hard. Something warm and skittish flutters in my stomach. I blame the third helping of ginger cake.

"I've made arrangements for you to visit Monday after Prim gets out of school," he tells Mom. "Go to the bakery and my father will take you over." He smiles, as at a hidden joke. "It's a short walk."

"Is it on the square?" Prim bursts out, bubbling with excitement. I start to shush her when I realize it must be, or close to, for Marko to consider them neighbors. The square is surrounded by shops and the merchants live above, but every now and again a family will die out and a shop will stand empty. Renting out the rooms above an empty shop would probably be cheaper for Peeta – not that he appears to be concerned with that – and the Justice Building certainly wouldn't turn up its nose at any income from a previously vacant property.

Peeta gives her a brilliant smile. "Maybe," he teases. "If the place is to your liking –" this is to both Mom and Prim – "you need only say so. My father has all the necessary documents in hand, and you can move in immediately. If you don't like the house, tell Dad – and be honest," he insists. "He'll send word to me and we can make other arrangements."

He pauses for a moment, and I realize yet again how well he's managed this. Not only is he giving Mom and Prim a home and food and money to spend, but he's arranged for someone to look after them, to ensure they have everything they could possibly need and aren't being cheated out of their newfound wealth. I don't think Mom's bought anything – purchased outright, without trading for herbal preparations or some kind of medical treatment – since before Dad died. And everyone loves Prim, but that wouldn't stop them from charging her double simply because she's inclined to believe people are honest and would pay what they asked without a second thought. No one would cheat the baker or his son.

In a very real way, Peeta's compensating for my absence in my family's lives – and going one better. Since Dad died, I've been the protector and the provider. I brought home game and foraged foods and traded for everything else. Now that Mom and Prim are rich – or soon to be – they don't need roots and blackbirds and pine bark. They'll be buying their food from the grocer and the butcher and getting deliveries of fresh bread from the baker himself.

They don't need me anymore.

I feel, sharp as hunger pangs, the separation yawning wider and wider between my family and me. Their house, if it's to their liking. I'm neither a part of that decision nor that future. I knew this, agreed to it from the very beginning, but still I'm suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Prim is going to grow up without me; without me to feed and clothe and look out for her. She'll have someone to do those things – better than I ever could – but it won't be me…

"I am…not in town often," Peeta says awkwardly. "I have in my employment two Avoxes who make regular trips for supplies."

Mom makes a startled sound – I don't understand why or what exactly he's talking about – and he hastens to reassure her, "Please believe me, Mrs. Everdeen, when I say their life is far more pleasant with me than in the Capitol. They served in my suite at the Training Center and were both willing and eager to accompany me to my Victor's Residence."

I wonder if he made any sort of bargain with them. If their families have fine new homes in some other distant district.

"Both are…distinctive in appearance," he adds with a small smile, "and have authority to transact on my behalf. If you need anything from me directly – or need to speak with me for any reason – simply let them know."

"Can we write to Katniss?" Prim asks hopefully. "Can we give them letters for her?"

I hadn't thought of this, and judging by the expression on his face, Peeta hadn't either. For a split second I'm terrified that he'll say no.

"Of course you can," he tells her. "I'm sorry I didn't think to suggest it myself. One or the other will be in town at least once a week, but if you miss them, simply leave your letter with my dad and he'll pass it along on their next visit."

"Oh, good," Prim says, visibly relieved. "Thank you."

With that, there appears nothing more to be said.

"Katniss, will you come with me?" Peeta asks. His voice shakes a little.

It's the first time he's addressed me – even looked at me – since he asked my permission on the sleigh ride, and I realize he's not just giving me a direction. He's giving me a chance to change my mind. He's just told my family that they'll have anything and everything they want for the rest of their lives, and now he's telling me that I can still back out of my part of the bargain.

It should be reassuring but instead I'm angry. Peeta could never do another thing for my family and I would still owe him for the rest of my life. He could break my neck and leave my body in the woods, and it wouldn't cancel out the immense goodness of what he's done in just one day. How can he imagine that I could simply walk away from that kind of debt?

"Yes," I tell him, and wonder at the quaver in my own voice.

Prim launches herself into my arms. She's begun to cry again, but her sweet blue eyes are shining and happy through her tears. "It's your turn for good things, Katniss," she says, hugging me tightly. "You've done so much for me and Mom. It's going to be so good; you'll see."

I wonder what sort of promises she wheedled out of Peeta in the sleigh. "Take care of yourself, little duck," I whisper back. She presses a wet kiss to my cheek, and I feel a snout nudge the back of my leg, just above the knee.

I turn to see Lady blinking up at me. Curious at the commotion, she's left the kitchen to investigate – and was, no doubt, more disgruntled to see me hugging her person than to have been left out of the activity. I crouch down to bring my face level with hers. "Goodbye, little mama," I tell her, ruffling her soft ears, and lean a little closer to whisper, "Have triplets." Three kids are not an impossibility, not even uncommon, but Lady's produced two these past two years for us, and we have no reason to expect more from this pregnancy. She might only have one.

One kid automatically goes back to the Goat Man in payment for the stud service – for the pregnancy, the kidding that keeps her in milk. He'll take a buck if both kids are male but prefers a doe. The first year we were lucky and got two females; the Goat Man eagerly took one and I sold the other at the Hob as a milk goat for a very tidy sum. The second year we got one of each; the Goat Man took the doe, leaving us to sell the buck. Bucks are obstinate; they can pull carts and father more kids, but their practical use ends there. Our buck ended up going to Rooba, the butcher, for meat; he fetched a good price, and it seemed a way to pay Rooba back for effectively snatching Lady from under her nose two years before.

The end result – Lady producing milk and thereby income for us – is the same, no matter the fate of the kids, but I know it breaks Prim's heart to watch Lady's belly eagerly, to help her deliver those kids with all the skill of a seasoned midwife, and then watch one go straight from his mother to the butcher. If Lady had three kids – ideally, two does and a buck – Prim could sell one doe in town and use some of the profits to bribe the Goat Man to take the buck for his herd, then she could keep the second doe as another milk goat. We've discussed it a few times since Lady's last kidding: if she had two kids, the Goat Man would take one and we couldn't afford to keep the other for ourselves, but if she had three – three does or even two does and a buck – we might be able to squeeze enough profit from the one the Goat Man didn't take to afford to keep the third.

I get to my feet again and hug my mother. She doesn't cry, of course, only murmurs, "Thank you, Katniss," as she kisses my cheek. Her lips are as light as a butterfly wing – as a shadow – against my skin, but still I cherish it. My last kiss from Mom before today was an hurried peck on the cheek the day Dad died. Go on; you'll be late for school – and keep your hood up! After that, I became the mother.

I catch her shoulders as I move back and look into her eyes, waiting for her to say whatever it was she wanted to say earlier and didn't. Something tells me it was desperately important, that I shouldn't – daren't – leave this house without it.

Instead, she takes my face in her hands, a gesture so tender and maternal that I very nearly do cry. "So beautiful," she says softly, smoothing her thumbs over my prominent cheekbones. I wonder if she's lapsed into madness again and is talking about herself. The hearty food; the strong, spiced coffee; the sheer well-being that seems to accompany every Mellark visitor to our house – it's brought color to her cheeks, a spark of life to her eyes. Even her hair seems brighter, more golden, by the light of Marko's cheery coal fires.

The fragile ghost that has haunted this house since my father's death is already turning back into the apothecary's daughter: a vibrant, beautiful woman of cream and honey and wild roses, with keen eyes and clever hands. A month or two of rich Merchant food and she'll even have the curves I vaguely remember; she'll have to alter her pretty dresses yet again. I wonder how she'll look when – if – I return. I wonder what Prim will look like.

For all his generosity, Peeta's made no promises of bringing me back, even for the Reaping. The loss of Prim – the realization that I won't see her again, not for a long time or perhaps not ever – twists at my heart, and I pull away from Mom for a last look at my sister, only to laugh, in spite of myself. Prim is smiling through her tears and holding Buttercup – that ugly, ornery, singularly adored cat – for his farewell pat. "No hissing," I warn him as I carefully extend a hand.

Apparently the chicken skin won me a full day's reprieve. Buttercup merely blinks at me – sleepy and downright content – as I stroke his coat. No yowls, no hisses, not even a meow of inquiry for the tidbit I must be hiding.

"You'll be back," Prim whispers. "Don't be scared, Katniss."

"I love you," I whisper back, leaning across Buttercup to kiss Prim's forehead. The urge to cry is almost overwhelming, but I fight it tooth and nail. I won't cry in front of Peeta. He already thinks I could change my mind, back out of the bargain. If he sees my resolve weakening…He can't. I can't jeopardize Prim and Mom's rosy future, and I can't owe him more than I already do.

I pick up my foraging bag and the cloth wrapping my bow and arrows and turn to Peeta, relieved that, despite the burning in my eyes, my cheeks are dry. "Let's go," I say bluntly, with a courage only partly feigned.

He smiles at me, a sympathetic smile, but there's something strangely bright in his eyes. Something like excitement –no, elation. As though he's about to see or do something wonderful. "Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen, Prim," he says, his eyes shifting to them, and the elation is in his voice too. "I'll look after her like she was –" He breaks off, blushing slightly. "I'll take care of her," he promises.

I frown. We all know what he was about to say. I'll look after her like she was my own. It's an odd phrase for a sixteen-year-old boy to use – it's the sort of thing parents say when they're called to look after another's children for a time – but certainly not worth blushing over.

I bid Mom and Prim one last goodbye. Peeta opens the door for me, though I might easily have managed it myself, burdened far heavier than I am with my small store of possessions. I walk out into the winter night and gasp at the sight before me.

Author's Note: Chapter 5 is coming in MINUTES! (It's technically Chapter 4b and meant to be posted simultaneously, but I'm running a little behind and figured I'd post this so my East Coast friends could get a head start. :D)