The Archer and The Axe-Wielder
There is something hypnotic about the way she uses the bow to kill. Her movements are seamless, arrow after arrow, and she looks like she can go on forever if she doesn't run out of arrows. Her form seems to float along with the wind as she takes her steps; an elaborate dance I can never mimic but can surely memorize. If I look close enough, it almost looks like she's made the bow her actual dance partner – a companion more than a tool. The bow is an extension of her the way my axe is an extension of me but she melds with it so easily that it is hard to separate the two in my mind.
It is hard to look away – not that I'd try to, of course.
She stops, twenty arrows later, and walks over to me. Offers me her bow. "Want to try it out?"
I shake my head. "That's more of your thing. I'm the girl with the axe, remember?" I say, mouth curling into a grin.
"Anyone can be good at it." She still holds the bow out to me, persistent, as always.
"Not the way you are."
"Compliments will get you nowhere." The twinkle in her blue eyes betrays her words. I rise to my feet and take her face in my hands, out in the open – a first. She doesn't resist, doesn't drop her voice into a whisper telling me to stop. I kiss her and linger there, enjoying the way she lets me close.
My hands go for her waist but end up finding the cold, metal curve of the bow's body. An extension of herself she is willing to part with for me, yes, but it isn't what I'm looking for. She breaks the kiss and dips her head back, wicked smirk on her face. A vast improvement to the girl I found in the forest.
Despite her good mood I hand the weapon back to her, not amused but slightly honored at the gesture. "I'd rather watch you use it."
Katniss finally gives in. She resumes her practice and I resume my watching – just the way it should be. The archer and the axe-wielder.