A/N: An edited version of the original chapter two, for those of you who recognize this.
The house is quiet. I wonder briefly if my mother is almost ready to go. It's Saturday morning and we always hunt together for the entire day. It is sort of a bonding ritual we have. Like the silent time that Dad and Rhye spend together in the attic studio. Dad paints and Rhye reads. It's a companionable silence they have over appreciating art. Mom and I have to stay silent for the purpose of actually catching game, but we whisper stories to each other. She is always the most vibrant in the woods and she says that I come alive there too.
I tie my long hair back and zip my leather jacket before I close my bedroom door softly. I walk gingerly toward my parent's bedroom and peer through the crack of the partially open door. My mother's thin form is huddled in a mass of blankets. She is staring at the opposite wall. I sigh, because this is going to be one of those days.
On days like this, it is evident that my mother is being consumed by some deep depression. I've grown accustomed to this happening. When I was very young, it used to happen quite often. As I grew up and my mother became happier with her life and time had brought her farther away from her demons, she didn't slip away from us as frequently.
Over the years, my father has let her have these days. Days where she checks out from reality. Tonight when he comes home he will force her to eat and lay with her talking to her tenderly. I can never be around when this happens, because it hurts my heart how much my father loves her. When my mother needs him like this, I see all too clearly what they have been through and it is simply too painful to think about.
I walk as quietly as possible down the staircase to retrieve a glass of cool water from the kitchen sink. I gulp it down quickly, smacking my lips in content before I fill the glass once more. When I return to my parent's bedroom door I knock softly. I know she won't answer me, but I do it as a courtesy. I enter the room and set the glass on the bedside table. She doesn't acknowledge my presence in the room. Her eyes are trained on an invisible spot on the opposing wall. I crawl slowly across the bed and slide my body behind hers.
"Good morning mama," my voice is gentle, as quiet as I can manage.
As I nestle in close to her a distinct smell surrounds me. The blankets smell like my parents. Tentatively I reach my hand forward to spread my fingers through my mother's long dark hair. I brush it down her back softly. She releases a contented sigh, but she just continues to stare off into nothing. I feel like I am coaxing a wounded animal.
"I brought you a glass of water," I say as I pull my fingers through a knot in one of her tresses.
When I have tamed her long locks I place my thin arm around the lump of blankets where her waist should be. I like hugging my mother. Right now she is unresponsive, but when she is having a good day she hugs me back fiercely. I sigh as I squeeze her and the mass of blankets tightly. She has always been thin, but in the last few years she seems to have put on quite a few pounds. Dad likes to pinch the fat below her belly button and make her shriek in laughing protest. Dad says a baker's family should have a few extra pounds on them, which always makes mom roll her eyes. She sure doesn't complain about the snacks he brings her at the end of the day though.
"I think I am going to go check the snares and hunt for a while. I'll be back in the afternoon," I tell her softly as I nestle my face against her warm cheek. She still smells lovely, like the garden and the forest.
My mother hums a response to me, which is more than I've gotten from her on her worst days. I pat her hair down once more before I rise from the bed and grasp my hands on the cool glass of water. When I reach the other side of the bed I kneel down beside her and her eyes focus on me for a moment. I hold the glass close to her face and she tips her head to let me coax some of the water past her lips. This pleases me, because I don't want to leave her here without getting some fluids in her. When I am satisfied that she has gotten enough I place the glass back on the nightstand. My mother rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. Movement, also a good sign, I muse.
"Mama, let me fix your blankets," I say as I tug her out of the tangled mess.
I float the sheet up over her and then the blanket. A gust of air passes beneath each before they settle squarely on the bed. Satisfied with her coverings I go to the window and crack it open to let some fresh air flow through. My father must have closed it this morning. He likes to sleep with it open.
I'm satisfied with how I will have to leave her. Now I feel that she will be fine until I come home. I can tell by the immense quiet of the house that Rhye must be off somewhere with friends or possibly reading in the meadow. Maybe he will venture home at lunch and coax some food into her.
"Alright, get some rest," I say softly, even though I know that she is only going to wallow in some deep dark place all day. The realm of buried memories.
"I love you," I murmur as I press my lips to her forehead. She hums a response again and I smile.
Once I am back downstairs I immediately set to packing my lunch and preparing myself for the hunt. I lace my boots up quickly as I munch on a piece of toast. I make quick work of removing my school books from the leather game bag I carry. I pause as I look at the name Mellark, sewn by my father some time ago. Hunter had mentioned it during archery the first time we spoke to each other. It was how he identified me. My lunch contents fit in the now empty bag with ease. I sling it over my shoulder as I go to the mud room in the back of the house to retrieve my bow.
As I step into the sunlight of the back yard I hear the geese honking noisily across the street. I shuffle quickly across the yard in hopes of avoiding them undetected. No such luck. One catches sight of me and tries to nip at my heels as I scurry toward the area that used to be the Seam. My bag and quiver of arrows rattle against my back as I jog ahead of the goose. A narrow escape, I laugh as I finally lose my assailant. Rhye is right, they are getting lazy.
As I approach the meadow I see Rhye and one of the girls from his class lying on a large plaid blanket in the grass. I smirk and wonder briefly if he is sweet on her. Both of them have their faces stuffed into books. Beside them there is a precarious pile of varying books. The girl's hair is blowing gently in the breeze as she turns the page and takes a sidelong glance at my brother. She's definitely sweet on him at least. A few bronze leaves float passed me on the autumn breeze. When I reach my brother and his friend I greet them with a smirk on my face.
"Hey," Rhye says in response, never looking up from his book. The girl exchanges a glance with me and I notice that her eyes are an interesting shade of green. She smiles shyly at me and returns to her book.
"Mom's not-um-feeling well today," I say slowly as I absentmindedly tap my bow against my leg. My left hand is fiddling with the hem of my leather jacket. Rhye glances up at me and sighs. He gets what I mean. He places a hand between the pages he is reading and closes the book, effectively holding his place. I can see that he is chewing the inside of his cheek.
"I'll check on her during lunch," he says finally. I nod and we stare at each other for a moment before I glance at the woods. Rhye is looking at me fully now, taking in the bow and bag. He glances at the tree line and then returns his silver eyes to me.
"Be careful if you are going alone, you know how dad feels about you going off by yourself in there."
I huff at him in response, because I don't really feel like getting a dad lecture from my little brother. Especially in the presence of a girl I don't really know. I roll my eyes and nod at him before I begin to back away. The girl waves at me meekly. The breeze has really caught her hair up now. Rhye has noticed too and he smiles at her softly. The whole idea of my kid brother liking a girl has got me feeling a little strange. Conflicted really, because he's young still, but it is sort of cute.
When I reach the edge of the forest my whole body seems to start releasing tension. Being in the forest has always soothed my heart and nerves. The crisp smell of the air and the sweet smell of the grass and trees are comforting. I close my eyes for a moment and let the sensations and sound of the forest envelope me. If I didn't have classes to attend I think that I would be perfectly content to hunt, trap, and fish every day of the week. When I come out with my mother it is always a time to connect with each other. We sense each other's movements and communicate with barely a few words or gestures. My mother always told me that my bow was an extension of myself. Sometimes I believe her, because my movements with it are so fluid and natural.
I easily disappear into the shade of the forest. Our first snare line is to the East, about a fifteen minute walk from the entrance. The autumn leaves are beginning to pile onto the ground of my path. They crunch slightly under tread. I listen to my own steps and try to focus on the woods around me. The rustle of the trees is almost eerie sometimes, but I still have a deep sense of calm being here.
When I reach the first snare I see that it has been tripped, but it is empty. Upon closer examination I see a tuft of grey fur pinched between the knots. A close call for that rabbit, it must have stumbled right over it. I reset the snare cautiously. Snares are not one of my strong suits, so I always take care with them. The second snare gives me better luck, because I am greeted with the lovely sight of a fat squirrel. I place it in my bag to skin later. The rest of the snares on this line haven't been tripped so I continue further into the forest toward our second line. It is set close to the lake.
I follow the soft trickling of the stream that empties from the lake. My bow is drawn in case I encounter an animal drinking somewhere along my path. I see a few birds, but I'm not that interested in shooting them down. Once I reach the second line of snares I smile broadly. Two large rabbits are waiting for me, entrapped and dangling. I place them happily in my bag and whistle a little tune as I reset the snares. Once I have skinned them I will be able to sell their furs in town. Since my mom isn't feeling well today I will bring one home for dinner and probably trade the other with someone.
I forage for some plants and berries after that. Blackberries have been growing on the west side of the lake, so I spend a lot of time choosing the best berries from the bunch. I pile them gingerly in a container that I brought along. I taste a few and eat a chunk of cheese with them for lunch. My thermos of tea has cooled considerably, but I gladly swallowed gulps of it. For a short while I sit enjoying the soft breeze beside the lake before I continue picking plants to sell to the apothecary.
My parents have a very detailed plant book in the living room. When I was younger I used to try and memorize every page. I would ask my father to quiz me all the time. He usually happily played along. He developed strategies to try and trick me. I smile as I think about this. When we were young Rhye and I enjoyed playing with Dad just as much as with other kids. He's still great with children. I often get the sneaking suspicion that he lets a bunch of the neighborhood kids have free cookies after school some days.
After I am satisfied with my haul of herbs and plants I make the several hour trek back toward the district. It is still early in the afternoon and I don't really feel like heading home so I decide to keep at it for a while longer. I stake out a large oak tree, then sling my bow over my shoulder alongside my loaded bag and quiver. It takes me two attempts to grasp the right notches in the tree to heave myself up. My hands slide on the branches as I climb. I pick a nice large clump of branches to rest in. It's an advantageous spot, where I can watch for animals passing toward the water source. The minutes begin to seep into what feels like hours and I don't see a single animal. The bark against my back is rough, but comforting as I sit perched high in my oak tree. The surrounding trees are whispering their leaves against each other in the gentle breeze.
I let my eyes slide through the trees, watching for movements. When I sweep them back toward the right I see a brown mass moving slowly behind some brush. After a moment the head and shoulders of a doe emerge. I lick my chapped lips before I silently notch my arrow on my bowstring. The doe moves into an open area and bends her head to eat some vegetation. She has her hind side to me, which won't give me a clear shot. My bow is hovering ready before me.
I make a soft click noise with my mouth. The doe springs her head up, skittish at the sound. I repeat the sound and she turns toward me with her ears perked high. She is ready to bolt. If I don't shoot now, she might bound off in the opposite direction. As if of its own accord, I find my arrow flying through the air straight between the shoulders of the doe and hopefully into the heart. A shot to the heart is the best way to take a deer down, or at least that's my mother's opinion.
Immediately the doe's body shakes with the force of the shot. She staggers off noisily into the brush. She won't get far with that injury. I sling my bow over my shoulder and drop my game bag at the base of the oak tree before I swing myself onto the nearest branch. I dangle for a moment before dropping myself to the ground. My knees shake with the impact, but I barely notice it as I run toward the spot the doe vacated. Careful inspection of the grass and underbrush shows thick droplets of crimson blood. I follow the broken branches and bloodied grass for a few paces before I find the thick body of the deer. She is taking in deep shuddering breaths. I kneel beside the beast and rest my hand on the chest.
This is the biggest animal I have ever taken down. She's majestic almost. Her breath is huffing hotly against me, a strange noise heaving in her chest. I pull my broken arrow from her thick body and sigh. It's snapped in the middle. Probably it broke when she fell to the ground. I toss it aside and stare down at the deer. The last breath has escaped her bloodied mouth. I sit cross-legged beside her, pondering my next move. A whole deer is heavy even for a man to drag through the forest, how will I get her back to town? The meat that can be collected from her will surely make me a mint at the butcher's shop.
For a moment I tap my bow mindlessly against my knee as I let my thoughts drift to venison steaks, burgers, and sausages. My dreams of juicy tough meat are halted when someone clears their throat behind me. My body startles and I twist around onto my knees quickly to see who has frightened me. Hunter is standing about ten feet away, wearing a thick black vest that is lined with knives and utensils. He has a bow grasped in his left hand and a large rabbit dangling from his belt. He smiles broadly at me and I can't help return his expression. His dark brown hair is falling in his eyes as he walks toward me.
"Fancy seeing you here," his silky voice says. I laugh shortly and rise to my feet. He lets out a low whistle as he looks down at my kill. I feel a strange sense of something like pride welling up in my chest. He sets his bag down and kneels down to inspect my shot. I see a look of appreciation spread across his face as he examines it.
"You weren't planning to drag this out alone were you?" He looks up at me from his position. I shake my head and smile.
"I was just trying to devise a plan actually." He laughs and goes to his bag to retrieve a thermos not much unlike my own. I remember my bag and motion that I will be right back. I walk toward my oak tree and snatch my own game bag from where I abandoned it a few minutes ago. I sling it quickly over my shoulder and leap back through the trees. I nearly trip trying to slow myself down when I set eyes on Hunter again. He's not alone anymore. There is a tall man standing beside him, looking down at my deer. I gulp, because I know exactly who this dark handsome stranger is supposed to be.
I grasp my hands on my bow tightly and steel my nerves as I approach. Both of them look up at me and I am struck by how similar their faces are. The same deep grey eyes and prominent noses almost mirror each other. Gale Hawthorne has dark black hair though, like me, like my mother. His son's hair is a deep brown in comparison. I halt a few paces away from them and the three of us just stare at each other for a moment. My heart starts staccato beating through my ribcage. Gale Hawthorne…Gale Hawthorne. He's staring at me, right into my eyes. Probably thinking like everyone else does that I look exactly like my mother, except I have my father's blue irises.
Hunter clears his throat and my brain seems to shake from its paralyzed state. I smile weakly and join them beside my kill. I am acutely aware of the forest sounds now, the feel of my skin, the smell of the earth. I mirror Hunter's earlier action and drink from my thermos.
"So," I say softly and look between the two men briefly before returning my gaze to the doe, "You wouldn't mind helping me drag this to the butcher would you?" Gale is staring at me again. It looks like he is trying to swallow a lump in his throat. I remember briefly how people tell me I sound like my mother too. Maybe I've spooked him.
"I mean, if you've got too much to carry I can always get my kid brother to lend a hand. This is the biggest thing I have ever taken down, he'd be thrilled to say he helped," I try to sound nonchalant. Hunter is beaming at me again; he seems really pleased for some reason.
I am startled when Gale speaks. His voice is deep, "I've got a rope. We can tie her legs up and drag her easy." As he says this he pulls a large circle of rope from inside a pack on his back.
I nod in response and he kneels down. I help him force the legs together to tie them. When I am this close to his hands I see how wide and rough they are. Worker's hands, calloused and scarred. We are kneeling with the doe between us. I look up into his face of concentration and a wave of fifty emotions push through my every pore. My mother probably did things like this with him daily, bent in close proximity inspecting game and resetting snares.
I am struck with the force of this realization. And the feeling that his handsome face was probably even more dashing in his youth. His features are marred by burnt scars on one side of his face and I wonder how he got them. Was he with my parents when they both survived the explosion that killed my aunt? His hair is definitely graying considerably in many areas and his face has wrinkled lines creasing near his eyes and mouth. I can see how my mother was attracted to him. I feel a pang of emotion again and wince.
He must sense my expression, because he looks up at me. His eyes are searching my face too now. We're so close that he can probably see every fleck of blue.
"I'm sorry," I say for some unknown reason. I don't even know what I am talking about. Hunter is hovering beside us, silent and tense.
I clear my throat and try to fix my strange words, "I just…you look different than I thought you would. Different than the picture we have in our book of memories." I feel my cheeks flushing slightly and he looks confused. I try and back-peddle over my words again.
"I just mean, you look so much like…Seam," I finish lamely.
A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth and I stand up swiftly. I feel all sorts of embarrassed, because I was thinking of other things. Things along the lines of: hey, isn't it weird that my mother used to be in love with you and you with her? Or wow, this is creepy I feel like you did this with her a thousand times, milling about in the woods together…alone. Or, you sure are a lot more handsome than you should be for her choosing my father over you. This last one grosses me out because this man is easily fifty years old. He must work out or something.
"Yeah, he gets that a lot," Hunter says in response to my 'Seam' comment. I imagine he's heard the old stories about life in District 12 during our parent's childhood. The hardships they endured with class divisions and poverty. I choke out a short laugh and rub my hands together awkwardly.
"You're Seam too," Gale says to me softly as he appraises me again, "You're the spitting image of sixteen year old Catnip." My puzzled look must register to him because he laughs heartily before he edits his statement.
"Katniss' nickname from when we were kids, Catnip." I nod at this weird explanation. She never told me she had a nickname, but then again anything associated with Gale Hawthorne is taboo in my household. I won't tell him that though. Thinking of my mother reminds me about her request at the mention of his presence in the district.
"She wants you and your family to come to dinner soon," I burst out suddenly. Both men are now quizzically looking at me. I smile sheepishly and tell them that she knows they are here. I briefly mention the day Hunter and I met, our mini-archery contest, and how pleased my mother was.
Hunter scoffs at the story, "That perfect double shot was a once in a lifetime thing…don't get cocky on me."
I roll my eyes at him and give him my best you wish you were as good as me look. He smiles and laughs at my expression. The mood has lifted considerably. We begin trudging back toward town. Gale is dragging the deer with ease. I listen to the rough rumble of it pulling across the leaves and earth. I chat with Hunter about my usual hunting spots and where my snare lines are. I tell him the best places for berries and milkweed.
When I mention the large strawberry patch to the north I notice Gale's shoulders stiffen. He loses a bit of grip on the rope and stops for a moment to adjust his hands. I wonder briefly if the strawberry patch has some significance to him. Most people in town know where it is now. During the right season a lot of people wander in here to pick them in large tin buckets.
When we reach the meadow I notice that Rhye and his 'friend' have disappeared. There are a few children playing a hearty game of capture the flag though. One of them yells when he sees us and skips merrily over. I realize immediately that this must be the younger Hawthorne sibling. He smiles broadly and looks at our game with interest. He has a lighter shade of brown locks and his eyes are more hazel than grey. He must be about twelve.
"You got a deer!" His voice is high pitched still and he bounces excitedly between his brother and father. Gale smirks and glances at me, but Hunter is the one to respond.
"Nope, Rosemary did. We're helping her take it to the butcher. What are ya doin' squirt?" Hunter says as he ruffles his brother's hair affectionately. The younger boy just looks annoyed and turns his chubby face toward me. He eyes me critically for a moment.
"You look familiar," he says and places his hands on his hips in a way that almost makes me burst into a laugh. I raise my eyebrows and look down at myself and then back into his wide eyes.
"I'm Fischer," he forces his hand straight out toward me and I smile widely as I grasp it in my own. He gives my arm a rough shake and laughs at me.
"You've got a nice handshake," he assesses as he releases my hand. I cock my left eyebrow and look at Hunter who is rolling his eyes. Gale is smirking again; I wonder if he knows how to smile. Maybe he only smirks.
"A good strong handshake is important, that's what my nana says," Fischer informs me as he glances over his shoulder distracted by the loud raucous laughter of his playmates. Someone appears to have stolen a flag from one of the boy's waists. Fischer bites his lip, torn between the excitement of capture the flag and the inspection of our game. Capture the flag wins the battle and he scurries away, yelling his 'see you later' to us in general.
We continue silently toward town and I become increasingly aware of the fact that we will be passing my father's bakery to reach the butcher. I groan slightly when I catch sight of him sweeping the entrance to the shop and waving at a person passing by. He sees us after a few moments and stops mid-sweep. I grit my teeth and steel a glance at my companions. This might get awkward; did someone turn the heat up a notch?
"Rosie," Dad calls to me. He has a strange look on his face as he lets his eyes travel over the two men with me. I plaster the best smile I can muster on my face as we approach. My dad smiles weakly back and sweeps the large pile of dirt roughly to the side of the entrance. He sets the broom carefully beside the door and steps forward to meet us on the cobbled street.
"Dad, I got a deer! My first one! Hunter and Mr. Hawthorne are helping me bring it to the butcher," I say cheerily.
I do feel partially proud and excited about my kill, but wary of this former love triangle encounter. Dad smiles broadly though and steps forward to examine my doe. He stands close beside me as Gale sets it on the cobblestones between himself and Hunter. Gale Hawthorne is a lot taller than my dad and everything about him is much darker. In them I truly see the difference between what my parents called "Seam" and "Town".
"She looks nice and big. Good venison burgers and steaks for sure," Dad says as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pats me lovingly. I smile at him and feel that sense of pride again.
"I can't wait to tell mom," I feel the excitement seeping through my words now. Dad smiles and then furrows his brow slightly as he looks around.
"She didn't go out with you today?" He knows that she spends every Saturday hunting alongside me; it's our best haul of the week normally. It is evident that his question is really asking, is she having an episode? Dad searches my eyes for a moment and I swallow thickly. He probably doesn't want to mention her bed ridden tendencies in front of the Hawthorne's.
I settle for a meager, "She's not feeling well today." We both leave it at that and my father turns his gaze to the two men beside us. He smiles a half-smile that's lacking the normal florescent glow.
"Gale, how are you? And you must be Hunter." My father extends his hand and Hunter grasps it. They shake firmly and I think about the youngest Hawthorne. I wonder what he thinks of his brother's handshake and what he would say about my father's. Gale is just nodding continuously as he watches my father.
"Nice to meet you Mr. Mellark. I've um, heard some great things about you," Hunter's voice sounds more husky. Heard great things about my father, huh? I wonder if most of that was in History class at school, or whether his family was actually allowed to mention the Mellark name when he was growing up.
"You look good Peeta," Gale says deeply.
My father just stares back for a moment before he mumbles a thank you. My father isn't one to be at a loss for words and I see his jaw is set tight. I suddenly have a fear that he will have a black out right here in the square. His eyes look darker than usual and he seems oddly tense. I've seen him have a total of five black outs in my life. He gets seized by shiny awful memories that make him want to harm himself and my mother. He doesn't know who I am during those moments. It's painful. Mostly it's scary.
My father holds himself together though and squeezes my shoulder again before he turns back toward the bakery and insists that he has some work to do. I don't doubt that he does, but that doesn't usually stop him from talking to passersby on a normal day. I smile and watch him retreat to the safe haven of our bakery. The pastries in the shop look delectable today and I point them out to Gale and Hunter. Hunter makes some sounds of content and tells me I owe him a few pastries for his father's good deed. I roll my eyes, but I promise to bring them something.
The butcher is ecstatic over my deer and his happiness makes him pay me top dollar for my rabbit as well. I strike a deal with him that my family gets half the venison and he is pleased to oblige. He'll be selling the rest at a good price. Everyone loves the fresh deer steaks, because they are a welcome change to the regular meat selection sold in his shop. My coin purse dangles heavily at my side as we exit the shop.
"Thank you for your help," I say as I turn toward them. They both nod and I am struck by their similarities again. I smile genuinely.
"I'll let you know when my mother is feeling better. She'll be inviting you to dinner soon probably," I say as casually as I can. Even though the prospect of dinner with the Hawthorne's is something I would have scoffed at ages ago. Hunter smiles happily at my words and glances at his father.
"Well, see ya around," Hunter says and we wave awkwardly at each other as they begin walking away. Something causes me to step after them for a few paces and raise my voice over the din of a large group of people who are exiting the mayor's office.
"Mr. Hawthorne." Gale turns and looks at me with that strange glint again. I clear my throat and smile softly at him.
"It was nice to finally meet you," I finally say.
He swallows thickly and nods at me. After that I swiftly turn on my heel and dash into the bakery where my dad is waiting behind the counter. He is eyeing the street warily. I smile reassuringly at him. He pats my shoulder as I join him behind the counter. We watch the Hawthorne men walk swiftly across the square and out of sight. I feel my father's body lose some tension beside me.
He feels my concerned eyes because he turns to me and says, "I'm alright. Just wasn't prepared." I nod, because I don't really know what to say about anything. He pats my arm before he returns to sweeping the large pile of dirt out the door. I sigh and lean on the cold glass of the nearest display case. This day feels strange and long.
"How's your mother, really?" Dad says with a hint of worry. I smile faintly and look into his face. He too has lines etched into his pale skin, aging lines. My father is 48 years old now and I think to myself that when he is worried he looks much older. He's handsome too I muse. I try to boost my view of him to push out the invasion of handsome Hawthorne men.
"She wouldn't speak, but she did look at me. She drank the water I brought her and she hummed at me. Like when I brushed her hair and told her I loved her, she made a little noise in response."
My father nods and sighs. He understands that these are potentially good signs, because it's better than when she doesn't even realize we exist. I suddenly have an intense urge to hug him, so I quickly approach and fold myself into his warm arms. He envelopes me tightly and presses a kiss to the top of my head. He smells like flour and home. I smile into his shoulder and think about the mess of ingredients that will transfer from his clothes to mine when I pull away. Right now I am content to be my father's little girl for a moment and forget about sad things, the rest is the concern of later moments.
"I love you Dad," I say simply, it sounds muffled against his shoulder. He squeezes me tighter and murmurs that he loves me too, "Help me clean up?"
Soon we'll finish the clean up here and head home to Rhye and mom. I'll gut, skin, and cook the rabbit I have left. And Dad will go lay with mom and stay with her like he always does. I'll sit with Rhye on the couch and we'll silently exchange glances that say she'll be better tomorrow, she loves us.
A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing.