I am pulled from a blur of nightmares by the waking bell clanging in the distance. Campers in the infirmary aren't required to awaken at the bell, nor are they required to eat meals with the rest of the camp, but those who can usually choose to do so, and today that is what I do. I push aside the down covers and slip out of bed, raking my hair out of my face and braiding it with tired fingers.

According to the calendar pinned to the wall it is the sixteenth of July. It has been six days since I wandered into the woods and was carried back with several bloody gouges in my abdomen. Ambrosia and the skill of the Apollo cabin healers healed me days ago, but they insisted I remain in the infirmary until they deemed me "as good as new", in Delos' words.

That day is today, Delos told me last night. Today they will allow me to leave the infirmary for more than just a few scattered activities. Today I will be able to lift a bow for the first time in days. And tonight I will return to the Hermes cabin.

I throw on an orange camp shirt and a pair of trousers Anai gave me. A cool breeze wafts in through the open window, and I pull on my leather jacket. I pull back the curtains sectioning off my bed and leave the infirmary.

When I reach the dining hall, only the Athena cabin has arrived. I nod towards Adevin and Evan and take my seat at the end of the Hermes table. The Hephaestus cabin arrives moments later, led by their counselor, Alef, a large, muscular boy of about sixteen. Iris' four children arrive next, followed by Dionysus' three.

Ten minutes later, all the cabins have arrived except, to no one's surprise, Hermes. I shake my head, exasperated. No doubt it is Valet holding them up. The boy from District One needs at least twenty minutes in the bathroom each morning.

"Katniss!"

A high, youthful voice full of excitement reaches my ears. I look up in time to see a whirl of orange collide with me. Prim's skinny arms wrap around me. In my ear she says, "You're out, you're out, you're out!"

"They finally let me out," I confirm. "However did you manage to survive five breakfasts without me in a place like this? Has everyone been good to you?"

"They've been great," Prim answers enthusiastically. In a quieter tone, she adds, "Of course, I've been in Quire's presence most of the time, and no one wants to get near enough to try anything when she starts talking."

I laugh, knowing all too well what she means. Prim sits down beside me.

A moment later, a child with light brown hair and wide blue eyes plops down on my other side. "Katniss!" Quire enthuses, throwing her arms around me. "Everyone was saying you went off by yourself in the woods and were attacked by some of those nasty pigs and had to be carried all the way back to the infirmary, and they made you stay there for days and days because you had huge bloody holes in your stomach! Do you still? Can I see? Well, no, I suppose you don't have them anymore, else they wouldn't have let you out of the infirmary, unless maybe they healed as much as they could, but there were still holes, in which case - "

"Quire," I say, trying not to show my amusement, "I'm all healed. Just a few scars. No more gouges."

The nine-year-old looks crestfallen. "Oh."

I stuff a piece of toast into my mouth to hide my grin.

In the afternoon I go to the archery range. I have not truly shot an arrow in nearly a week. Four days ago I deemed myself healed enough to try. I sneaked out of the infirmary and went to the archery range, but pain racked my side when I tried to pull back the bowstring. I only shot once, and the arrow skittered into the ground several feet in front of the target.

Now I am slightly nervous when I draw back the bowstring, but I feel only a tingle of excitement. I am shooting once again. I have recovered fully.

It is not an excellent shot. My arrow pierces the second ring, several inches from the center of the target. I remind myself that I haven't been in shooting condition for a week, but I can't help but feel disappointed.

As the hours drag by, my aim improves until I am hitting the center of the target as steadily as ever. I even split several arrows, a practice I avoided in District Twelve due to my reluctance to craft more projectiles than I had to. But from the racks of arrows beside the range I can tell it will not be a problem here.

Soon after I split my third arrow, I feel eyes on my back. I turn around, an arrow fitted loosely on my bow. Behind me stands a girl around thirteen with long golden hair and hazel eyes. She is watching me intently. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees me turn around.

"How do you shoot like that?" she blurts out suddenly, nervously turning her bow over in her hands. "I've never seen someone split that many arrows before in such a short amount of time. And you're new."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "I've had lots of practice."

"It's apparent," she says. She hesitates a moment and then asks, "Can you teach me? If ever I hit closer than the third ring, it's purely by chance." I nod, and then her eyes widen again. "Oh! I'm Amaranth, daughter of Demeter. You're Katniss, right? Everyone's been talking about the boars."

I feel my cheeks warm slightly. "Have they?"

"It's not every day a new kid lands themselves in the infirmary two days after arriving." She grins at me. "Where are you from? I don't recall seeing you in New Greece before."

"I'm from District Twelve," I answer. Sadness rises within me as I think of my mother, of Gale, of Hazelle and the kids. Will I ever see them again?

Amaranth opens her mouth in a silent Ahh. "We don't get many from Twelve here," she says. "There's you, Evan, Anai - his mom was from there, I think - and Addel - he's the little one, Hebe's kid. Me, I'm from Nine. I ran away when I was eight."

I turn to her, shocked. "You what?"

She grins, but her eyes are sad. "I was from probably the poorest family in the district. My father fell into something of a stupor when Mother left him. If I didn't force him out of bed in the morning, he'd never get up to work. I...I decided that anything was better than that. I wouldn't have lasted a day out there, but I ran into Tern just a couple hours after ducking the fence. He was going to look for half bloods in Nine."

"You joined camp when you were eight?"

"Addel's only seven, but no," she says. "I stayed in New Greece until I was ten."

Though I find myself liking Amaranth, or at least respecting her for her endeavors at such a young age, but by this point I am itching to lift my bow to my shoulder once more. To my relief, Amaranth seems to sense this. She breaks off with a smile and steps in front of me. She pulls an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back and notches it. She squints at the target, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I inspect her posture. "Both eyes open," I murmur, my heart throbbing as I remember my father whispering the same words to me all those years ago when he was first teaching me to shoot.

Amaranth's keen hazel eyes stare down the length of her arrow. She spends several seconds aiming, and then releases the bowstring, her elbow jerking back as she does so. A moment later, her arrow lands in the outermost ring of the target with a soft thump. She sighs in disappointment, grinding the bottom of her bow into the dirt.

She turns back to me. "See? I love archery, but I've never been able to get the arrow to go where I aim it."

"It won't go where you aim it," I say. "It never does."

Amaranth stares at me, at once bemused and exasperated. "Well...that doesn't..."

"External factors always affect its trajectory path," I explain. "Gravity, wind, you name it. The farther away your target, the farther the arrow will go from where you aim it. But that isn't your biggest problem. When you shoot, just when you release the string, you shift the arrow to the side. All of your time spent aiming was wasted."

Amaranth nods and notches a second arrow. I hold her elbow still as she aims. This time her arrow is closer, hitting the second ring. She grins in delight, and I find myself smiling back.

The next hour passes quickly. I continue to help Amaranth, whose aim gradually improves until she can hit the second ring without my assistance. At seven thirty, the sound of a bell clanging sounds over the thumping of arrows into the target. Amaranth leans her bow against the archery shed, but I carry mine along with me to the dining hall.

I take my seat next to Prim. Valet sits on my other side. Usually he is one of the more talkative ones at our table, but today he is uncommonly reserved. When we line up to scrape a portion of our food into the fire, he nearly puts in all of his brisket. Only Prim's hand on his arm stops him.

Twenty minutes later, dinner draws to a close. Chiron stands, and all conversations halt.

The centaur gazes out across the dining hall. "Another excellent dinner! A reminder that tonight will be our weekly volleyball tournament. Come to the pit at eight fifteen if you wish to participate. At nine thirty, please come to the campfire for some marshmallows and songs, and - "

Chiron breaks off suddenly. I realize that the fabric pressing into my right arm is radiating a strange heat. It is silky and soft, a completely different texture from the cotton that had been there just moments earlier. I turn to my right and can't hold back my gasp. Valet is glowing with an ethereal light. He wears a long tunic, Ancient Greek style. He is beautiful. I feel suddenly uncomfortable, and fix my eyes back on Chiron.

The centaur is kneeling, his head bowed in Valet's direction. "Hail, Valet," he says softly. "Son of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty."

So this is a claiming. Hot envy fills me. Valet's mother claimed him, but I am not good enough for my father. I am not someone he would want to claim as his daughter. Perhaps he has already forgotten of my existence.

Valet rises and walks slowly towards the Aphrodite table. I try not to glare at him as the Aphrodite counselor, a boy named Velvet, embraces him and pulls him down to sit on the bench. I would not want to be claimed by Aphrodite, but those at her table have a home, have a place. Jealousy surges through me. Why hasn't Father glanced down from Olympus? Surely he has not forgotten. He cannot have forgotten.

I skip the volleyball tournament. Prim was going to go, but she decides to stay in the cabin with me when I tell her I am not going to attend. From her concerned gaze I can tell she knows what is bothering me.

"Give him time," she murmurs to me. "Eventually he will have to look down from Olympus, and then he will see us."

But he is a god, I want to say. By the time he gets up to look at camp, it may very well be past our time.

I am not eager to leave the cabin, but Prim insists I go with her to the campfire. When we get there, the Apollo cabin is already assembled around the fire, armed with guitars and other instruments. The fire is a vibrant blue, and around ten feet tall. Prim and I sit beside the other Hermes campers just as the Apollo kids strike up the first tune.

The first song is a strange composition about a grandma dressing up for battle.

"And then she puts on her helmet to hide her great white granny head!"

I raise my eyebrows. Beside me, Prim is giggling to hard to sing, but she gestures to her head along with the other campers. I cross my arms, not about to let them drag me into this.

"And into her scabbard she puts her sword, saying 'try to cross me, you'll soon be dead!'"

Prim frowns at that line, but even that doesn't come close to dampening her good mood. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as the lyrics grow increasingly more and more ridiculous.

By the time the song ends, the campfire has a tinge of purple and has grown another few feet. The Apollo cabin sings several more songs, each as ridiculous as the last. By the end of the fourth song, I have given up the battle against my laughter.

But the smile is wiped off of my face when the Apollo campers begin their final tune.

"Down in the valley, the valley so low," they begin, singing softly, strumming lightly on their guitars. "Hang your head over, hear the wind blow. Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow."

The Valley Song. Hearing it brings back so many memories. My father cradling me as a young child, crooning softly. Me, standing before my class my first year of school, singing, wondering if the birds will stop to listen as they always did for Father.

Prim looks nearly as shocked as I feel. "I haven't heard this in years," she whispers to me. "Not since...not since Father."

"If you don't love me, love whom you please. Throw your arms 'round me, give my heart ease. Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease. Throw your arms 'round me, give my heart ease."

It seems like a cruel joke now. Father sung this to me many times over, at a time where I loved him more than anyone else in the world, perhaps save Prim. And now he is gone. Now he sits on a throne on Olympus, and has yet to even tell me who he is.

I can remember him so clearly. His twinkling gray eyes, his laugh, the way he would swoop me up in his arms and spin me through the air. I don't understand how he could end that so quickly and leave us so abruptly after eleven years of being the stabilizing force of love in our lives.

It hurts to think of Father. But long after the song ends, long after we return to the cabin for the night, he stays in my mind's eye. I can almost feel him in my mind, soothing me, humming quietly to me. When finally I fall asleep, no nightmares come for the first time since I left District Twelve eleven days ago. For the first night in what seems like an eternity, I am at peace.