Disclaimer – I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters. All credit goes to Suzanne Collins.
Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed, it means a lot to me. Enjoy the next chapter.
I inhale the fresh scent of pine and oak from the surrounding trees and sweet floral scent from the flowers while the soft summer breeze played with the lose strands of my hair. I stop to retrieve my bow and sheath of arrows from the hollow log. I carefully unwrap the bow and arrows from the waterproof cover. I notice that the fabric is starting to get thin and worn out and make a mental note to trade for some more at the Hob. As soon as I stash the cloth back in the hollow log, I set out to the hill that Gale and I use as our meeting place.
I reach the top of the hill and find him already sitting by our favourite rock ledge. "Hey Catnip. Late as usual," he says when he see's the outline of the shadow of my bow and arrow on the grass.
"I wasn't late, you were just early," I retort back at him with a playful smile. "Caught anything yet?" I ask sitting down next to him.
"Only a rabbit," he replies showing me the rabbit stuck to his belt. Although hunting is illegal and punishment for doing so is death, I would do anything if it meant to keep my family alive.
He takes out a shiny ripe red apple from his game bag, "apple?" he tosses it to me and I catch it. My stomach growls in response as I take a huge bit out of it and feel the juice saturate my tongue and coat my lips.
It only takes me a couple of minutes for me to completely devour the apple right until the core. We check our current snare traps and reset them. We move deeper into the woods and I feel at home again. The fresh misty air, the trees and the comforting echoes of the animals lurking nearby.
I stop in my tracks and hear the rustle of the surrounding foliage. I spin my body round and lock my arrow in position. I see the fuzzy grey tail of my prey that conceals itself in the copses.
I squint my right eye and release the arrow from my tight grip. I feel the wind brush against my cheek as the arrow soars, easily cutting through the atmosphere. I hear the light thud of the small animal falling on the hard packed ground.
A warm feeling of satisfaction runs through my veins. The same feeling I had when I caught my first squirrel. I rush over to the bush and pull out the dead squirrel. The arrow protrudes from its lifeless body. I yank the arrow out, clean the blood off on some moss and place it into my game bag.
My father taught me everything there is to know about hunting and skinning game. From what types of plants should be avoided and where the best hiding spots are. It was Gale who taught me the extras, like how to draw the perfect snare and what animals are easier to trap than others.
Gale and I met a couple of days after the mining incident happened. I plucked up the courage to go slip through the fence one afternoon when I came across a snare. I'd never seen one so perfectly drawn (apart from my fathers). I was about to reach out and touch it when he popped out from one of the boulders behind.
While his snare intrigued me; he was intrigued with my bow and arrow. He asked to see my bow and I immediately declined. The bow was my father's most prized possession and my only connection I had to remember of him by. It was not his calm demeanor that gave me the reassurance to trust him, but his olive complexion and steel cool grey eyes, the same Seam look I had. He wasn't going to turn me in he was just like me. Hunting for his family's survival.
We made a deal to meet down here each Sunday. I traded my knowledge on archery and he taught me snare hunting. After a few months of haggling over each other for each trade we started to help each other. We've been friends ever since.
After another successful afternoon of hunting with Gale, we managed to collect four squirrels, three rabbits, a grouse and a couple of greens. We decide to keep two of the squirrels and one rabbit aside to trade at the Hob and then split the remaining rations equally, Gale giving me more than he should.
"See you tomorrow Gale," I say before I enter my home. I find my mother in her usual depressed state, sitting on the lumpy sofa staring blankly into space. I take off my hunting boots and leave them by the door before placing the food onto the small kitchen table.
I walk to the upstairs bathroom and already a small basin of water is already waiting for me along with a clean set of clothes. I begin to scrub off the dirt and sweat of my body from the woods. I untie my hair and soak it into the lukewarm water, cleaning away the remaining dirt. I then grab the small towel sitting on the edge of the basin and wipe my face clean.
I put on the new set of clothes and begin to re-braid my dampen hair.
"Katniss," I hear a soft voice from the other side of the door.
I stop re-braiding my hair and let it cascade down to my shoulders. I open the door and see Prim standing there innocently in her yellow dress. "What's wrong little duck?" I ask with a thread of concern in my voice.
"Katniss do you think we'll ever be able to eat a cake like the one at the bakery?" She asks in a soft voice and looks down at the floor. I can tell she's been thinking long and hard about this.
I bend down to her level to see a hint of hopefulness sparkling in her little cerulean eyes, meaning will we have to live like this forever. "Of course we will." I assure her. "Tell you what, next time we have enough money I'll get you something from the bakery, ok?" I gently pull her into my embrace and kiss her head lightly. "I promise," I whisper into her hair.
She then helps me dry my hair and re-braid it. "Now. Rabbit or squirrel stew for dinner?" I ask her as we both walk downstairs into the small kitchen.
"Rabbit!" she giggles.
"Good choice," I say with a smile before I start to skin the carcass for tonight's stew.
That night as I lay awake in my bed next to Prim, I think of what I said to her. Will things really get better or will we have to continue like this? I had never really thought about it until now.
Eventually sleep overtakes me and my eyelids begin to close heavily. But tonight it's not my father that haunts my dreams; instead it's those blue eyes. The eyes that belong to Peeta Mellark.