the winding roads that led me here
burn like coal and dry like tears
so here's my hope; my tired soul
and here's my ticket; I want to go
home

Katniss watches.

She sits on the porch swing Peeta built, bare toes barely touching the coal-blackened wood, and mentally rhymes along with the little girls jumping rope a few yards away.

"2, 4, 6, 8, don't be late, don't be late

1, 2, 3, 4, don't be sore, don't be sore

1, 3, 5, 7, Games won't wait, they won't wait

3, 6, 9, 12, see my ma no more, no more

Reaper wants me; home no more…"

Katniss swallows the lump in her throat and forbids herself from scolding the children. They are innocent creatures, blurs of faded gingham hopping between spinning ropes, unaware of the true meaning behind their jump rope game. One of them, her dark Seam hair tangled, breaks away from the group and skips over to stand in front of Katniss.

"Wanna play, Miss Katniss?" she asks fearlessly. The child's gray eyes shine with excitement as she waits for Katniss to answer.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Tilly."

Katniss leans forward slightly and pokes the little girl's stomach, marveling at how it is round with the evidence of hearty food, and much of it. Tilly giggles and the sound threatens to sweep Katniss away into a sea of heartache. She breathes in deeply and forces herself to smile.

"Well, Tilly, thank you, but I can't do much jumping right now."

Tilly tilts her head to the side.

"Why not?"

"Because my belly is even bigger than yours," she says, and Tilly seems to notice Katniss' rotund abdomen for the first time. Her face becomes very concerned.

"Are you sick, Miss Katniss?"

In answer, Katniss takes the girl's small hand and gently positions it over where her unborn child is kicking.

"Not at all. Feel that?"

Tilly nods, her brow furrowed.

"That's a baby in there."

Tilly looks up at her in amazement.

"A baby?"

"A baby," confirms a deeper voice, and just the sound of it puts Katniss at ease. She looks over to see him standing there, solid and warm and smiling at both of them, holding a large platter of cookies. The children squeal as Peeta sets the platter down on the porch step and then descend like a pack of wild things.

"No telling your mothers I ruined your dinner," Peeta warns them, and they all nod vigorously, mouths full and cinnamon on their faces. The old mine whistle sounds just then, and they scatter for their homes, leaving the old ropes lying in the dirt. No less than three cookies remain on the plate.

"That would have never happened seventeen years ago," murmurs Peeta, nodding at the lonely cookies.

"No," Katniss agrees, and she closes her eyes as she leans against his chest. Peeta's strong, scarred arms wrap snugly around her.

"Tired?"

"No," she says again. "Listing."

Peeta kisses the top of her head and they sit in silence for a long moment.

"Someday I'd like to hear this list of yours."

"I think it would bore you," she replies honestly.

"Why?"

"Because almost all of it is made up of you," she says, and adds the rumble of Peeta's quiet chuckle to her manifest.