[A/N:] Part two of three, peeps. Enjoy. Read, review, do whatever you want. Negative reviews, while heartbreaking (*sob sob*...) are appreciated, but not requested. Language is occasionally a little old-fashioned on purpose (not that old, just words and phrases I wouldn't use, like "I myself don't quite understand it" instead of "I don't get it either". That sort of thing.)

Enjoy, mah bruzzahs and sistahs! )

Chapter Two
New Life... Or Not

That was only the beginning. Now, motherless and probably fatherless, we're hiding in different ruins of houses each night, eating whatever scrap of edible material we can find. The war has been going on for so long, around two years, and I have no idea who's winning. We haven't spoken to another human in over a year, and there hasn't been a minute where I've glanced over my shoulder at least twenty times. I haven't seen daylight in months, since we've become nocturnal for our own safety, and even so I've barely slept at all in the two years we've been in hiding. Water is so hard to find, but we make do with drinking from broken or burst pipes from destroyed homes. We're too scared to leave the comfort of District Thirteen, our home and only the place we know. But things are getting too extreme to stay.

"There's barely any water pipes left," Tommas whispers. He's eleven now, and Delidah is twelve. I'm fourteen. I can't remember the last time any of us spoke above a whisper. "And no food. We must've gone through every house in the district at least twice. I'm starving."

"I know, Tom, we all are," I say. "But we can't give up. There's still water, and maybe we can... eat bark or pine or something."

"There's no trees," Delidah says. "This place is barren!"

I sigh. "Maybe it's time we leave the district."

My siblings groan softly. We've had this discussion a million times over and all it's resulted in is conflict. "We can't go, we don't know how to survive out there," Delidah says.

"It's too scary," Tommas backs her up.

I wait until their rants are done before speaking. "We've talked about this. I'm serious. Out there is basically the same as in here, but more trees, which means more cover, which means more sleep and more freedom. And who knows? Maybe we'll come across another family of rebel survivors."

"You said that last time!" Tommas says.

"And I'll keep saying it until you two see my point of view. Being stubborn won't keep us alive—"

I become instantly silent as we hear the footsteps of soldiers. Our breaths are shallow and soundless as we wait for the danger to pass. A soldier carelessly sends a round of bullets through the streets, most likely out of boredom than for any other reason. After a minute or so they move on. We wait another minute before we continue talking. "We're infinitely lucky to have survived here this long. Our luck will run out eventually, probably soon," I hiss.

"Then let it run out," Delidah says challengingly. "We'll fight until we die. That's what this rebellion is all about. That's what Father is fighting for."

"Besides, it's That Day tomorrow," Tommas says. 'That Day' is our name for the anniversary of Mother's death. We visit the old basement near which she was killed if we're close enough.

I sigh again and study my siblings. We all look similar, with our sickly pale complexions that were rather pale in the first place, dark, dark bruises under our hollow-looking eyes, and bodies so thin we're skeletal, apart from our stomachs, which are bloated from lack of some protein or other. Delidah used to have lovely straight blonde hair that I used to brush for her every morning, and rosy pink cheeks, and her chocolate brown eyes were as deep as her soul; but over time her hair has turned a foul, filthy brownish-yellow color, the color has disappeared from her face and her eyes have paled with her personality, seeming more a hazel than chocolate color now.

Tommas used to be a loud, confident little boy, with eyes just like Delidah's and hair so dark brown it looked black unless he was standing in the sun. Now he's barely a ghost of his past. It's terrible.

"Fine," I say. "Fine. After That Day we'll leave, though. Agreed?"

Tommas and Delidah think this over. "Okay," Tommas agrees with a nod. Delidah hesitates before saying, "All right. But if anything goes wrong out there, I'll be the one to say, 'I told you so'."

"I believe that," I mutter to myself.

We creep, half crouched, through the district. Because of all the creeping, this half crouching, our legs are very strong and we could probably outrun any trained soldier who came at us. But no one can outrun a bullet.

We near the basement. The Yammas' house on top had been blown up with the first bombs, but the basement, while bare and a little holey, still stays strong.

For the first time in a long time, I crack open the trapdoor that leads in to our first hideout. A wave of nauseatingly foul smell hits me full in the face and I gag, lowering the lid as quickly and as quietly as I can. Tommas and Delidah peek over my shoulder. "Open it again," Tommas says. "I want to see if there's any food."

"We ran out of food in there ages ago," I say. Tommas still wants me to open it so I say, "All right, but hold your nose." They do and, sucking in a breath, I open the trapdoor. We peer into the darkness. There's someone in there! I jump down, landing ankle-deep in human waste, which would explain the smell, and squint at the person. "Mrs. Dew?"

I can see now that she's well and truly dead, her body half way between rotting and not because of being locked away underground, slumped against a wall with a blunt knife in her hand. There's no sign of her children. They must have gone. My eyes become more adjusted to the darkness and I can see carvings on the wall. Everywhere. They all say, 'They have to come back', over and over again in scratched, awful writing. Poor Mrs. Dew must have been so mad she trapped herself in here, waiting for her son and husband to return.

"What's down there?" Tommas asks.

"Nothing worth reporting," I say as cheerily as I can manage, climbing out and closing the trapdoor behind me. "Let's get some sleep, hm?"

There's no water nearby so we curl up under a piece of wall of the Dew's house that had fallen, creating a convenient slope to hide under. As usual, I lay my leg across both of my younger sibling's bodies — Tommas lying between Delidah and me — so that any movement they make will alert me.

I only sleep for a short time, the memories of Mrs. Dew haunting me, before Tommas wakes me up, gasping and jerking in shock. Another one of his nightmares. I rub his arm to calm him down. "You okay?" I breathe.

Tommas doesn't reply for a while, just getting his breath back. Then tears start running down his face. "I don't want to leave District Thirteen," he whispers in a ragged voice. I hug him and he sobs into my shirt. "Shh," I say. "Shh, shh. Settle down. We'll be all right, Tom. We'll be okay." But will we? my mind nags me.

He cries himself back to sleep and eventually I drift off as well.

I wake up before the others like I do every morning to scavenge for food or water. It's That Day (well, night) today.

I manage to find a crumpled can of corn kernels, probably a dropped can of a soldier. There's only a few kernels left in the can, but for me it's a treat. Corn? I haven't had corn since I was only a baby!

I scoop up the can and hurry back to my brother and sister, who are awake. We divide the kernels between us exactly evenly and eat them, then with heavy hearts we sneak to where Mother fell.

Her body is still there, decayed and rotted and now just a pile of bones in shreds of clothes.

Tommas and Delidah cry a bit but I force myself not to. I have to be the strong one for them to look to when there's trouble.

We sit in silent respect for about a minute, then decide to move out.

"Stay right near me," I tell Tommas and Delidah. "Don't ever lose sight of me."

They nod. We make our way through the ruins and soldiers until finally we make it to the woods. We hurry toward them and keep running for as long as we can.

When we can't run anymore we keep up a brisk walk, just keeping on moving to separate ourselves from our home. It's nearly dawn when we stop.

"I'm exhausted," Tommas says. "Can we sleep now?"

I think for a while. We're all about to drop dead with tiredness so I say, "Okay. In the morning we'll make a plan, all right? We're safe out here, guys." Well, safer than we were in Thirteen.

They agree with me and when we settle down, we fall asleep.

Night comes. I wake up what seems like a few hours later, on account of the dark, but the crick in my neck gives away that I've been asleep for longer. I see find Tommas and Delidah sitting around glowing hot coals, poking them with sticks. I slowly get up.

"Oh, she's awake," Delidah announces. "We thought you'd never wake up."

I stretch. "Oh, I haven't slept that much in years! How long?"

"About three days," Tommas says.

"You should have woken me up, I'm sorry," I say.

Delidah shakes her head dismissively. "You needed the sleep. Hey, Tommas found a dead rabbit that had been half-eaten or something, so he cooked it up and we ate some. Imagine! A rabbit! I haven't eaten so much before. Want it?" She holds out a charred piece of meat. "It's a bit burnt but it still tastes nice."

"Thanks." I take it and bite into it. The burnt skin crackles and the overcooked meat inside fills my mouth with flavor. It's so good. I eat it all in a manner of seconds.

"Is there any more?" I ask hungrily. Tommas and Delidah shake their heads. "We all got that amount."

I start sucking on the bones. "So what's the plan?" Tommas says.

"Well, I can't say I've been thinking about it," I say, "what with me being asleep and all, but we could move to another district. We should, I mean. It's the safest option."

"No!" Delidah cries. "What about Thirteen? It's a wasteland! How can the others be better?"

"They must be," I say firmly. "Besides, would you rather die out here? With no... no purpose? No goal to strive to?"

"We won't die," Tommas says. "I found food, right? There has to be lots more."

"No, there doesn't," I say. "I don't want to argue, you two. We have to go to District 12."

"I'm staying here," says Delidah childishly.

"Me too," Tommas adds.

"No you're not," I say through clenched teeth, beginning to lose my patience.

"Yes, we are."

I throw myself to my feet. "Listen," I say sharply. "Mother died so Tom could live. Father might be dead too, but it's so we can live. Do you want to throw that all away? Make their sacrifices worth nothing?"

My siblings don't reply, but look upset.

"We're moving to District 12. We'll fit in, make some friends, and when this war is over, we'll make new lives there, all right?"

Again no response. I sigh and run a hand through my filthy, knotted hair. "Great. Okay. Let's go, then. Come on."

They get to their feet and we set off.

We travel through the woods for weeks, drinking water from lakes and brooks we come across and nibbling on bark from different trees (with trial-and-error taste tests). We don't know anything about living in the woods, but we know how to survive the worst, harshest situation. I discover that in the mornings dew settles on leaves of trees, which gives us hydration until the sun grows too hot. We slowly adjust to traveling in daylight, trekking through the trees in the early morning and resting in the middle of the hot day. Life is harder. Our strength lost in the long years of hiding out in Thirteen returns — not completely, but a little. With our strong legs we can hike long and tirelessly. I'm actually starting to feel a bit better. Our bare feet are raw and tired and we're aching all over, but it's all right. We're surviving.

One problem: where is District Twelve?

All we can do is estimate where it is. We'll turn up somewhere eventually, right? Just have to keep going.

After about a month and a half we come across evidence of human contact. A collapsed shelter.

"We must be close," Delidah says hopefully.

"Yeah," I say half-heartedly. This isn't anywhere close to being firm proof that District Twelve is nearby, but I have to let them have hope. Without hope, we're nothing, really.

Tommas grins. "Come on, then!" he says excitedly, running ahead. "Let's hurry!"

Delidah follows him but I stay behind, staring at the old shelter. It's made of bark and sticks, just one of those flat board-like shelters that you prop up against a tree to hide you from the sky. I spy something out of place, and squint at it, kneeling down next to the tree that the shelter was leaned against. It's a splatter of something. Something dark and almost glossy. I touch it. Eugh, it's sticky. I wipe my finger on the tree, and notice that the leaves and twigs on the ground have been dug up in two shallow valleys of dirt. Tracks. Something was being dragged along here.

I screw up my nose at the sticky stuff and follow the tracks forward. "Agh!" I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands out of shock, and to hide my nose and mouth from the smell. Because at the end of the trail is a mangled, rotting body. It wears no clothes, and judging by the scorched hair and horrifyingly disgusting skin, covered in ugly black craters of charred skin that sometimes reveal the bone, it's a body that was burned. A body with holes riddled in its chest. I have to run away then, too scared to do anything else. As I catch up to the others and try to keep down my meal, I piece the puzzle together. The sticky stuff? Blood, obviously. Holes in the body? Shot. Someone must have shot the person and then tried to get rid of the evidence by burning the body, but it mustn't have worked.

I do my best to rid myself of that nightmarish image, but it's anything but easy.

We keep going, and District Twelve does not show. At nightfall, we decide to hit the sack.

The memory of the body haunts me and I can't sleep. Tommas conks out straight away. About half an hour passes and I feel Delidah stir under my foot. I sit up. "What's the matter?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she says. "I can't sleep."

"Neither."

She hesitates. "Um... I was thinking... If you had to choose between me and Tommas to save, who would you choose? Coz I don't think I could choose between you two."

I sit up. I hesitate before speaking. "Do you know what the last thing Mother said to me was? And the last thing Father said to her?"

Delidah shakes her head, still lying down.

"Protect Tommas," I say. "Mother said I must protect Tommas, whatever I do."

Delidah is quiet. "She didn't say to protect me?" she asks softly, hurt clear in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Delidah," I say gently. "I myself don't quite understand it. She said that Tommas is the only one who can pass on our family name, and it was Father's last wish."

"But we carry our name," Delidah says.

"But we can't pass it on to our children. Children get the father's name. Don't you see? Father believes that keeping the family name in existence is of utmost importance."

The words don't feel right coming out of my mouth so I say quickly, "But of course I will protect you too. To me, both of your lives are more valuable than my own. You two are top priority," I say firmly.

Delidah gives me a small smile. "Thank you."

"It's what big sisters do. Now, get some sleep. We have a mission to fulfil tomorrow."

She rolls over so I can't see her face. I lie down and close my eyes.

In the morning there is a strange smell wafting over me. I sit up bolt right. It's the smell of fire. Is something burning? No, there's no campfire near me. I stand up and turn in a circle, trying to find the source. I can't see anything strange. It must be coming from far away. But how far? I climb a tree, which is pretty hard considering I've never done it before, and scan the distance. I see smoke, billowing up from an unknown place. It must be— "District Twelve," I whisper.

I jump down carefully (the last thing I need is a broken ankle) and shake my siblings awake. They sit up, sniffing. "What's burning?" Tommas asks.

"District Twelve," I say, helping them to their feet. "You were right, Delidah, it's not far!"

"But smoke can carry miles," Delidah says.

"I climbed a tree and saw it," I say. "Come on!"

"Wait," Tommas says, stopping Delidah and me from going on ahead. "Why do we want to go to the district that's on fire?"

"We're not going in it while it's burning, obviously," I say. "But we know where it is now! Come on! Before the smoke trail vanishes."

Tommas gets up and we start running in the direction I saw Twelve. "You know," Delidah says as we run, "if an entire district was on fire, I highly doubt the smoke would disappear very quickly."

"Never mind!" I say. "Just run!"

We go as fast as we can. After about an hour of a steady pace Tommas puffs, "Can... we... rest?"

"We're nearly there, Tom," I urge him. "Just a bit longer." I take his hand and help him along.

In the end we do have to stop. I allow us five minutes before I get everyone to their feet and we're off again.

Finally I see signs of civilization: a small wooden hut. "Come on, guys," I say to my tired, stumbling brother and sister. "Come on. Home stretch. We'll rest when we're there."

It only takes a few minutes of staggering to reach the fence. Tommas and Delidah collapse, sucking in breath and clutching their sides. I lean against my knees and massage a stitch in my side. "We made it," I breathe. "We finally made it."

"And... it's... on... fire," Delidah gasps.

"Yay," Tommas says sarcastically.

"District Twelve; the district on fire," I say. "See? Sounds cool."

"Not... really," Delidah says.

We catch our breath. When my siblings can stand up again I creep forward to inspect our soon-to-be home. People are screaming and running away from burning buildings but they're also firing onto enemy soldiers, who are firing back. Flaming torches soaked in alcohol are being tossed at the soldiers. Chaos has ensued.

"THAT'S our new home?" Delidah says. "It's as bad as Thirteen."

"Well, there're people fighting, at least," I reason.

Tommas sighs. "Well, do we wait till it's over? Or go in and fight?"

"I vote wait," Delidah says.

"Me too," Tommas says.

"All right, we stay," I say. "Let's go in that hut we saw back there."

"All right, we stay. Let's go on that hut we saw back there," a voice says in a high, sing-song voice.

We gasp and turn around. "Who's there?" I demand.

"Who's there?" the voice repeats in an exact copy of my voice.

"What?" I breathe, looking around.

"I think it's that bird over there," Delidah whispers, pointing above us. It's black and white, and sure enough it opens its beak and Delidah's voice bursts from its throat. "I think it's that bird over there."

I look closely at the bird. I've never seen a thing like it. It's a peculiar mixture of different colours and tones almost like khaki but more detailed, ranging from dark green-grey and black to light grey and dirty golden. I can barely make it out, it's so perfectly camouflaged in the trees.

"What are you?" I mutter.

The bird repeats it.

"I'm going to call it Bob-Bob," Tommas says. "I was going to call it Bob but seeing as it repeats everything I thought Bob-Bob was more appropriate."

"Tom, you can't go around naming things," I scold him.

The bird, after a polite pause, repeats everything that was said.

"How much can it remember?" Delidah says. "An entire song?"

I'm about to say, "Well, don't bother trying, let's go," when Delidah begins to sing a song. She's not a terrific singer and I didn't know she knew any songs at all, but she sang.

"Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.
It followed her to school one day, which was against the rules.
It made the children laugh and play to see a lamb at school... Um, I forgot the rest."

The bird sings it back in an immaculate voice.

"That's a stupid song," I say. "Who taught you that?"

"We learned it at school one day, when we were learning history. Apparently that was a nursery rhyme in the old days," Delidah says.

I shake my head. "People were so dumb back then. Seriously? A lamb, at school? Why isn't it on the dinner table?"

"Well, you know, the teacher told us people kept sheep as pets back then, but they ate them too sometimes."

"Were they called 'farmers', per chance?" I say sarcastically.

"Well, yes, but they were different from today. And you know that—"

"What's that on Bob-Bob's ankle?" Tommas interrupts her. I squint at the bird's feet. There's a tiny little tag wrapped around its leg. I can't read what's on it, but I have a feeling that, as strange as this bird is, that that tag didn't grow naturally on its leg.

"Shh," I hush my siblings. "Don't say anything more."

"Why?" Tommas whispers.

"I have a bad feeling about that bird."

Suddenly, it flies off.

"Aw," Tommas sulks. "Come back, Bob-Bob."

"No, don't come back, Bob-Bob," I mutter. "Come on guys, let's go. And try not to speak, in case there are more of those birds."

We hide in the hut.

The burst of rebellion from the headstrong District Twelve citizens lasts a few more hours. When it's over, I check the electric fence (it's not live), and pull back a part of a fence that has a tear in it. "Come on," I whisper. I gesture for my siblings to go. They lie flat on their stomachs and wriggle under the gap, then me.

We hurry over to a house and crouch behind it to assess the District. People are crying over the dead and carrying the wounded to a number of carts, some of which are already heading off to who knows where. The cemetery, maybe. Or a hospital of sorts, hopefully.

"Let's talk to someone," I suggest.

I creep out and cautiously approach a young woman who's tending to a cut on her arm. "Excuse me," I say shyly. She narrows her eyes at me. "Who are you?"

"I'm, uh," I stammer. "Well, I'm—"

"Whoever you are, darl, you're not from around here, which means you shouldn't be here."

"Please. I'm only fifteen, ma'am, and I've been taking care of my younger siblings for two years with no help," I beg.

"War's tough, darl. There're kids who've been through twice as much as you have. Besides, you look pretty well-fed, darl. If you're from the Capitol I'm gonna get my brother over there with the rifle to take you out."

"No!" I gasp. "We've been eating stuff from the woods for weeks. We're from District Thirteen."

"Then you should have stayed in Thirteen, darl. No one's in any mind to help strangers these days. Go home."

"We have no home!" I cry, but the woman has gotten up and walked away. "Please!"

I try another person. And another. And another. No one wants to help. A couple of times I say I'm from around the area, but they can all tell I'm not. I look around and see that all the people have grey eyes, dark, straight hair, olive skin. My black hair and blue eyes must stand out.

Sadly, I return to my siblings. I shake my head forlornly. "No one will help us."

They sigh. "Then what do we do?" Delidah asks. I shrug hopelessly. "I don't know, Delidah. What can we do?"

"We can't just give up," Tommas says.

"I don't know, Tom!" I yell. "I'm tired of this war! When will it be over?"

Tommas flinches.

"I'm sorry, Tom," I say. "It's just, this is all so idiotic and proud. I'm sick of it all."

"Wait here," he says, getting up and walking away. A few minutes later he returns accompanied by a middle-aged man on crutches carved out of wood and a little girl with flaming red hair.

"I told them we can gather food if they let us stay with them," Tommas says. The man introduces himself and the girl. His name is Stave, and he was a soldier fighting until he broke his leg. The girl is Arabel and she is the daughter of a close friend of his. She's only six.

Stave takes us to his house. One of the walls has collapsed. There is barely any furniture in the house; only a bed and a mattress with a blanket. It's the most luxurious place we've set foot in in years.

"Wow," Delidah sighs. "It's so big!"

"It's not much," Stave admits, "but it's home."

As Tommas and Delidah gaze around the room, I ask Stave, "How many people left in Twelve?"

He shrugs. "Couldn't say, but I'm taking a very rough guess when I say around 3% of the original population."

I raise my eyebrows. "Where has everyone gone?"

"Dead, mostly. The rest ran away."

"Better than District Thirteen, I suppose."

"Why? How many people left?" Stave asks.

I shake my head. "I haven't seen another District Thirteen citizen since the war started. Only Capitol soldiers. There aren't any homes still standing."

Stave sighs. "We've only survived this long because we do what we're told. Mostly. Occasionally we have a desperate retaliation but it always results in more people dead. I don't think I've eaten in a month or so. I give all my food to Arabel."

"Well, that won't be a problem any longer," I promise him.

He raises an eyebrow and sucks in a breath. "If the soldiers find out where you've been, you'll be executed. That's how my wife died. Public execution. They cut her head off." His voice is full of pain and loss.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"It's all right. Poor kids, you must've been through much more than I have."

I don't reply. "How far along do you think this war is? When will it end?" I ask quietly.

Stave sighs. "I couldn't say. We are too unpredictable. It could end in a week or last for another year, I don't know."

I watch my younger siblings introduce themselves to Arabel. Even though they've been through so much, they still know how to smile.

"I never knew what happened to my father," I murmur. "He went off the fight in the war and I never heard of him again."

"I'm sorry," Stave says.

"Don't be," I say. "We were never really close to him anyway. He was incredibly focused on his work. We were more like his servants whenever he was home."

"And your mother? Did she fight too?"

I shuffle my feet, staring at the floor. "It was the beginning of the war when she died. We were trying to escape this basement we'd been locked in and she was shot." My voice catches on the last word. I struggle to keep back tears that threaten to overflow. It's the first time I've ever felt emotional about this. I've just kept moving, kept moving, focusing on the future, never in the present.

Stave reaches a hand out to comfort me but he takes me by surprise and on reflex I dart away.

"I'm sorry," Stave says. I think he's meaning he's sorry for two things.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not used to... people comforting me, besides my brother and sister," I say.

"I understand," says Stave. "Well, anyway, I don't recommend going out tonight — the soldiers will be on high alert. So when you want, just drop to the floor and sleep, I suppose."

Life is easier then. The retaliations become more frequent. I manage to find a meter-long gap in the fence that I can wriggle through on my belly to get out into the forest and search for food. Meat is impossible, though. Until I find the bow. I'm trekking through the woods one day, searching for a lake I found yesterday to gather these roots that taste like they hold lots of nutrition and are easy to find if you can just get to the lake, when I spy the bow sitting in the grass in front of me. I pick it up and study it closely. I've never seen one before, but I know what it is. I glance around for any arrows, but there are none. I gather what food I need and hurry home.

"Look what I found!" I announce to my household, holding up the bow.

"What is it?" Tommas asks.

"It's a bow," I say.

"Well, what does it do?" Delidah asks.

"It... kills things."

"Kills things?" she repeats.

I frown in thought. "Uh, I think if you get arrows, then put them on the bow, you can pull back the string and fire the arrow to shoot something. As in deer. For meat."

Stave nods. "Yes, she's right. Bows and arrows are hunting tools. Were there any arrows too?"

I shake my head.

"Where did you get it?" Tommas asks me.

"I found it in the woods just now. It was lying on the ground, is all."

"How about tomorrow you gather some sticks and we can have a shot at carving arrows?" Stave suggests.

I nod. "Good idea. In the mean time..." I hold up my bag of goodies, which is actually someone's shirt filled with my gatherings, and put it gently on the ground, along with my new bow.

"Did you get any Katniss roots?" Tommas asks.

It's like a punch in the gut. I stagger. "WHAT roots?"

"Katniss roots," Delidah says. Bam, again, right in the stomach. "The roots that you said you found in a lake. Stave said they taste like potato, whatever that is. Remember?"

I'm struggling to breathe, but I manage a nod. "Why..." I whisper. "Why did you call them that?" I hate that name. I don't know why it was ever thought up. It can't be used for a plant.

Because Katniss was our mother's name.

"We thought that it suited the plant," Delidah explains. "It's comforting, and it helps you along through the day."

"And you eat it," I say scathingly, my voice not above a whisper. Suddenly, anger wells up inside me. "You named a plant after our mother?" I yell. "Of all the things, a root?"

Delidah and Tommas cower under my furious glare.

Stave holds his hand out. "Now now, no need to get too worked up about it..."

I ignore him. "How could you?" I shout in my siblings' faces. Arabel begins to cry. "It's evil and to simply bring her up in casual conversation! She died for us, and you honor her death by tossing it aside and acting like it's a big joke!"

"No, we didn't—" Delidah stammers quietly.

"Don't you EVER call that stupid root Mother's name ever again, do you hear me?" I demand.

"Calm down," Stave says firmly, hugging Arabel and rubbing her back soothingly. "You need to calm the hell down, all right? They can call it what they want."

"Imagine if Arabel died today," I say, "and we named... a bush after her. The Arabel bush. Would you like that? Think it's such a great name?"

"I would be honored that you thought of naming something after Arabel at all," he says in a level tone, staring me in the eye.

I can't even form a reply. I just storm out of the house, slamming the door behind me, planning on taking a long walk around the area, but I collapse into tears as soon as I get out the door.

The next day I do as Stave suggested, and collect some sticks. I take them home and with our only knife, try to whittle out a straight line with a pointed head at one end and a split in the other so I can 'nock' the arrow, as Stave calls it. I do my best to fire them at the front door, but mostly they just fall to the floor. Finally, just when we're running out of sticks, Delidah manages to carve one that fires properly. It thunks into the door, near the handle, and we cheer. "Just one thing," I say. "I was aiming for the centre of the door."

[A/N:] Love it? Like it? Hate it with a passion? Let me know! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING! *Ahem...*

~LuvRuePrim over and out! :P