"Katniss! Katniss!" Posy runs by Hazelle and wraps her arms around Katniss' thighs.
"Hi, Posy!" Katniss holds several squirrels by their tails at a distance so they don't swing right into her. She has to squat a little to place her other hand onto Posy's back in a far-reaching hug. "Wow, look at you. You're not getting taller, are you?"
Giggling, Posy steps back and straightens. Katniss levels her freed hand at the top of her head and gasps. "You are!"
While Posy jumps around and tells them how she knew it, she knew it, Hazelle shakes her head at Katniss, smiling. "You shouldn't get her hopes up."
"No, really, she's gotten a little bigger." Katniss follows her from the entry into the kitchen and places the now one-eyed squirrels onto the table. "I caught these within the span of two hours. Safe to say the game hasn't abandoned the area, what with the smoke clearing up and all."
"Good," says Hazelle. She surveys the game. "This ain't all for us, is it?"
Katniss nods. "A belated homecoming present. Trade it, turn it into stew - do whatever. It's yours."
Without a thought, Hazelle embraces her. She's missed this girl, and not because of the game.
As she prepares to boil some water for tea, Hazelle hears her daughter's timid yet curious voice ask, "Hey, Katniss... why is your skin different? Is it like that green lady's?"
Hazelle blanches, turning to search Katniss' blank expression while Posy waits in her lap. "Posy," Hazelle admonishes but Katniss, almost defiantly, speaks up.
"No, not like hers. I got burned really bad while I was away so they had to put on new skin in some places." Katniss holds out her arms on either side of Posy. "See? These are scars from burns that were good enough to be left alone."
While Posy may recognize the aftermath of a mining accident or a fire-bombing from the survivors' scars, the white skins grafts that seem alien on Katniss' flesh are from Capitol-grade medical treatment. Hazelle remembers Katniss and Peeta's first postwar appearance during the presidents' televised executions, their skin mottled with vulnerable pinks and waxy whites that have since blended a bit. She remembers how angry she felt at the Capitol and thinks of how displaced it feels now, freezing into bitter sorrow. Hazelle can't imagine how Katniss feels, and she never wants Posy to feel a fraction of these memories forever stitched into quilted skin, souvenirs of a trauma that her own brother crafted.
"Oh." Her frown deepening, Posy shifts on Katniss' lap to hug her again. "I'm sorry. Do they hurt a lot?"
"Not as much anymore." Katniss offers her a closed yet earnest smile, then looks around - probably for a distraction. "Where are the boys?"
"Rory's down at the site, and Vick is with his friend Aiden. They should be back by dinner," replies Hazelle as she measures out tea leaves. She mentioned to her children that Katniss might be around more now, which sparked a private talk with Rory, who's still uneasy about the strain between Gale and Katniss. She made him promise to avoid bringing up why Katniss might be upset with his brother, that it was between them and only them. After all, he doesn't know the real reason for their fallout, and so he could inadvertently cause further harm to Katniss.
There's a heartache from all of this that Hazelle equates to the frustration and sadness she feels whenever her children don't get along. She can't quite go about it as such, though, considering the bouts of conflict between her children pale in comparison to the events and emotions surrounding Primrose's death.
"I won't stay long after that, then," says Katniss. "I want to ask Rory if he'll learn to hunt. I'd offered before, and I could use the help now with bigger game."
"Gale's not here," Posy tells her, nodding like she understands, and Hazelle sighs inwardly.
Katniss nods a bit emphatically at Posy, clears her throat, then asks Hazelle, "How are you finding Twelve?"
"About as well as you can, all things considered." Hazelle steeps the tea leaves in the kettle. "Glad the mines are gone."
"What will everyone do now, you think?"
Retrieving several mugs, Hazelle snorts. "Be townie. I have no idea how steel production will manage without coke. The Capitol might make us find more mines soon."
"They won't make us do anything for a while," Katniss replies somewhat tiredly. "But what's Twelve good for other than coal?"
Arms akimbo, Hazelle retorts, "We're good company." She smiles as Katniss feigns doubt. "I'm not sure, either. Everyone's just trying to make the place livable again."
Katniss nods and watches the kettle steam for a moment before she remarks, "Seems like too much of a hassle."
Hazelle considers this with a frown. After her trial, Katniss was exiled to this begotten district, a wasteland that's only recently begun to heal, whereas Hazelle returned with her family on their own accord. It must seem like a wasted trip to Katniss. Hazelle reminds her, "This is our home, Katniss. I don't want to live anywhere else."
"Me neither," Posy chimes in, wearing Katniss' braid above her lip like a mustache.
"Not even Thirteen? I wasn't exactly a fan of the place but at least they had it figured out. I thought you'd like it there, with everything being so efficient and practical," Katniss says, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Hazelle tilts her head side to side, as if weighing the overall experience. "Thirteen was uncomfortable at times. I felt like a bumpkin refugee that needed brainwashing - or bred." Katniss raises her brow, and Hazelle recounts how men and married couples alike would approach her after learning she has four living children. She doesn't elaborate since her daughter is with them, albeit amusing herself by pivoting one of the mugs on the tabletop.
"That seems about right with them," Katniss admits, grimacing. "I heard they had an epidemic that left a lot of them infertile so we were all new blood in more ways than one."
"Well, I really felt at home with everyone envying my track record." In the Seam, having a bigger family wasn't uncommon at all - being able to feed all of them as consistently as Hazelle could was. "I could've managed, I just didn't want my children to make a life there when they didn't want to. So we're here." The kettle whistles and she pours the tea into each of their mugs.
As she accepts the tea, Katniss asks, "So what have you been up to?"
Hazelle shrugs. "Working and keeping this one entertained." She taps Posy's nose. "I'd ask about you but I already know the answer: hunting, gathering, and avoiding everyone in the district." Katniss hums affirmatively over the lip of the mug. "You know, now that it's not illegal, I'm sure you could bring the gather part into the district, relocate your garden patches in the woods. I could help."
Katniss considers this for a moment. "Good idea. Maybe the kids can help, too."
"Yes!" Posy claps her hands and bounces in Katniss' lap. "I miss the wildflowers. Can we plant those, too?"
"Of course, Posy. I know Peeta can help us." To Hazelle, she explains, "The primrose bushes outside my house were his own homecoming present. I mean, he returned a few months after I did but." She shrugs, a blush igniting across her cheeks. Hazelle could laugh at her transparency but instead she feels fond of the girl's love for this other boy. Katniss didn't quite act this way toward Gale until Peeta was there, declaring his love for her on national television, meddling with her feelings.
"That was sweet of him." Hazelle smiles at her, hopefully reassuring her that there's no ill will toward their relationship, wherever it's at now. "The boys should be able to come as well; Rory's always looking for something to do, and Vick has been enamored with the woods - or rather, the land."
Katniss huffs in bemusement. "Well, there's plenty of land to see if we go. We could make a day of it. Peeta's been wanting to have a picnic, and I'd rather we have more company."
"Then it won't seem like a date, right?" Hazelle asks archly, and Katniss tries to chuckle in reply, gives up, and distracts her mouth by drinking her tea. "But really, I'd love to, and I'm sure the kids would, too. We can chaperone with Haymitch."
Katniss rolls her eyes. "Right."
"Have you seen him lately?" She winces a bit at Katniss' expression. "Not good?"
"He's - Well, he's trying to act the same, and that's the problem. Peeta blew up at him last night. Sorry if you came across any broken glass today. I thought we got it all."
"I didn't. That explains why the kitchen smelled so potent, then." Her heart ached with disappointment this morning, worried that Haymitch resumed heavy drinking so soon. She's not sure how to feel about it now. "I didn't see him this morning but I only had to work for a few hours. Figured he was either down at the site or having breakfast with you."
"He wasn't at breakfast. Peeta thought he saw him in town."
"Should we... be concerned?"
"Not particularly," Katniss answers a little too indifferently. "If he wants to mope around avoiding us, I'm not stopping him." She traces her finger around the rim of her mug's handle for a moment. "I kept thinking about my mother the whole time, how I would get on her while she was... gone. It never worked then; she had to do it herself."
Hazelle bites her lip. She knows Katniss has found solace in her over the years that she hasn't always in Verbena. For all the tears shed over her losses - she's cried over Gale plenty in just this past year, for a host of reasons - Hazelle's not one to be bent by them, not with her children there to keep her upright. After the mining accident that took their husbands, Hazelle could carry her grief and work whereas Verbena went away into her mind, and when Katniss saw the disparity, she further resented Verbena. For her part, Hazelle stays out of it where she can.
Like right now: Katniss hasn't mentioned her mother's absence from Twelve and so Hazelle hasn't, either. She isn't here, and that says enough.
Hazelle squeezes Katniss' hand. "Everyone reacts to things differently. Maybe he'll surprise us."
"I doubt it." She finishes her tea in a big gulp.
Hazelle gestures toward the dead squirrels on the tabletop. "There's enough here for a few pot pies. Want to help me skin them?"
While they work, Katniss tells her about her memory book. "Like my father's book of plants, but for people we've lost. I know there will be memorials and all soon but... it's like our own way of honoring them." She avulses a squirrel of its pelt, then adds, "It helps. I write about them and Peeta paints their picture. Haymitch even contributed."
"Really?"
"Yeah, a month ago - actually, around the time you came back - he told us every single one of the tributes he mentored. He couldn't recall their appearances very well but he wrote out the descriptions himself until he eventually got drunk doing that. Then, I scribed."
That surprises Hazelle. In a way she's relieved but also devastated that Haymitch did remember all of his tributes, that he did not forsake the children of Twelve without knowing the names on the reaping slips. She thinks of the framed pictures in his house. He's trying to do something with all of this grief, now that the war has ended and the weight has at last stalled.
Hazelle is about to comment further on the memory book but the front door opens and in come the boys. They notice Katniss bent over the squirrel carcasses with Hazelle. Vick rushes into the kitchen and hugs Katniss around the waist as she holds her slimy hands away from him. Rory hesitates, hovering by the kitchen entrance.
And all at once Hazelle knows he will say something to Katniss, hopes that he won't say the wrong thing, and chastises herself for not managing this - all of this - better.
"Baby, I think it's about time for your shower," Hazelle tells Posy, hoping her voice isn't as frantic as it sounds to her own ears. She throws a pointed look Vick's way, and he straightens in startled half-understanding, takes Posy's hand, and leads her upstairs while she pouts. Neither of them can stay here with the conversation going somewhere they cannot follow.
Once they leave, Rory stands before Katniss guiltily. "Katniss, I'm really sorry but I've been avoiding you."
This takes her aback, given she's been the one avoiding them. "Why?"
"Gale told me that I should look after you - since he can't anymore. He said that he hurt you." Rory, who's taller than Hazelle and Katniss, seems to shrink with every word. Hazelle wants to reach out and hold him and Katniss both but refrains, watching as her stomach churns with dread.
"Oh, Rory," Katniss breathes, considering him pitifully, questioningly. "Why would he do that?"
"Because I'm here, I guess. He called last night to apologize for it but I know Mom made him."
Now Hazelle joins Katniss in gaping at him. "Gale called last night? Why didn't he-"
"You were out, and he didn't have much else to say," Rory replies brusquely, and Hazelle purses her lips and looks away, a flare of indignation smarting between her ribs that's not toward Rory. He turns to Katniss again, face tight with concern. "I've been worried I'd make things worse. I'm just... really sorry for everything, Katniss."
Of her children, Rory and Gale look the most alike. Hazelle dreads whatever Katniss must feel now with this sorrowful teenage boy who looks more like the Gale she met in the woods years ago than the one she'd see on television nowadays, apologizing to her for everything.
Hazelle swallows. "I'm sorry, too." She means more by this than Rory. Katniss' eyes flash between them.
Her family very well may be a cesspool of bad blood for Katniss now, where a memory singed in infamy has burnt away countless fond ones. As Hazelle accepts this reality, Katniss shakes her head.
"No," she says. "Don't apologize for anything. I won't let you." Her tone is adamant, furious. "This ain't about either of you. So that's enough of that, all right?"
Hazelle is still pondering over this as she mends, bent over the kitchen table in her dark, sleeping house. She was ready to break ties if it would help Katniss heal but instead the girl refused pity, refused to acknowledge any wrongdoing on Hazelle's part. She left them with fresh, skinned squirrels and a deal with Rory to help her field dress next time.
When Hazelle startles at the knock on the front door, she worries that Katniss has reconsidered. She crosses into the entry and reaches for the door until she remembers that Katniss doesn't usually knock. Chastising herself for her near complacency, Hazelle glances through the sidelights and jerks her head back in confusion.
"Haymitch?" she says, answering the door and looking up at him. He's wearing a sheen across his brow, dark shadows under his eyes, and an uneasy, desperate, sober expression.
"Hey, is this too late? I don't mean to interrupt or-" He stops himself when Hazelle shakes her head. He points a thumb behind him. "Walk with me?"
"Sure..." Hazelle steps out and locks the door behind her. As they walk away from the house, she asks, "Is something wrong?"
Before he can answer, a night breeze blows across them and Hazelle shivers, folding her arms across her chest. "Cool night for summer," Haymitch remarks.
"After all that rain," Hazelle points out, and he grunts affirmatively, and they fall silent. He hasn't answered her question. She glances at him sidelong. "You seem like you're too warm. Are you feeling okay?"
"Enough to be upright and walking around."
"Are you sure you-?"
"Never mind, I'm fine," snaps Haymitch. Hazelle stops to level a hard look at him as his palms press into his eyelids and his shoulders slump with an exasperated sigh. "Ah, hell. I shouldn't have bothered you, especially if I'm going to take it out on you. You don't have to-"
"I want to walk around now anyway. You may as well come along." In her voice is a peace offering that he seems to take; he follows after her sheepishly. With the moon a silver sliver above them, their path is sparsely lit by houselights and street posts. "Did you see the sign-in I left in the study? It's so you can keep track of my hours without having to be there."
Haymitch nods. "Yeah, good idea." Hazelle notices he's tracing his fingers along his bandaged wrist. Somehow the bandage has stayed intact, for all he fidgets with it. "So... how was your day?"
"Um, good." Hazelle recovers from her slight surprise at such a casual question, given the circumstances. "The house didn't need much so I wasn't there long. I read with Posy afterward. I also taught her some mending but that lesson was cut short; I'm still behind." She smiles while Haymitch groans sympathetically. He's actively listening, then. "Katniss came by this afternoon with squirrels."
"That was nice of her," is all Haymitch says, his voice even. They pass a few workers coming in from town, the faraway cacophony of crickets filling the brief silence.
"More than nice. She knows that I know about Gale. She knows now that Rory has some of the story, too. But we were carrying on like normal." She shakes her head in confusion. "She doesn't seem angry with us."
"And we'd all know if she was; the girl holds a grudge like no other. If you're drawing attention to it too much, she might be irritated about that. But it's not your wrong," he explains, "and even if Rory doesn't know the entire truth, you do - and I know that's some comfort to her since she doesn't have to pretend with you or explain anything."
Hazelle nods, tries to shrug off the hurt. "At least it's settled for now."
"Have you talked to Gale since-" Haymitch waves a hand, "all that?"
"No, but I need to. It was already so difficult to reach him last time because he was busy. Now he's probably avoiding me. He's talked to Rory without me." When she tightens her crossed arms, she feels a hand on her shoulder that's gone as soon as she registers its comfort.
"Kids, huh? It hurts when they hate each other," Haymitch says, "or you. But they come around eventually - even if it's just because they need something."
Hazelle huffs a laugh - ain't that the truth - and lets the worry abate for now. It's odd that they can connect over this; she never considered mentors being like parents to their victors. The three living victors of District Twelve have gone through more together than most, she supposes, so they may as well be a little family at this point. Something about that nags at her, though; Peeta is an orphan but Katniss is not. Her stomach already sinking, Hazelle asks, "Where's Bena?"
Haymitch's face hardens. "In Four. Did you watch Katniss' trial?"
"Not all of it. It wasn't replayed in Thirteen much so it was easy to miss."
"That was probably on purpose." He sighs. "Well, I was the kids' legal guardian until they turned eighteen. First and only pick for Peeta, but I volunteered for Katniss when Bena declined."
Hazelle frowns. "Oh."
"I'll give you her phone number," he offers blithely, then softens his tone. "I think she and Katniss talk, and she actually helped me find the doctor for here. She's well."
Hazelle nods. "Good." She ventures, "What about you? How have you been?"
"Oh, just dandy."
"Haymitch, come on." She should have expected such a flippant response but she figured since she opened up enough, he would as well.
"Nah, I don't want to whine to you. I'm assuming Katniss blabbed about the other night." He looks over to check for her reluctant expression and continues without missing a beat, "Of course she did. Then, I'd be an ass to pull you through that as well." He shrugs. "Look, I don't want to go home right now, and I figured if you were up, why not invite you? You wanted to be friends, right?"
"Right, and when a friend asks about your day, it's only right to hear about theirs as well," Hazelle reasons. "Otherwise, I've overshared."
"Okay, fair," acquiesces Haymitch. "After those two little shits got on my case, I stayed up all night watching Plutarch Heavensbee's new show."
Hazelle snorts. "I've seen a few commercials for that. Is it any good?"
"Not bad considering it's one long propo. I think Hera and Bronwin should be together, though it's too early to decide for sure. Oh, and my favorite character already died. But I won't give anything away in case you want to see it for yourself."
"Thanks." Hazelle laughs with him even though she can't rid the sense of dread that his absurdity is a symptom. While he's been light-hearted with her before, she suspects now it's an unstable front. But they both know this, then, and she lets herself distract him if it's the only thing she can do for him. "It was on all night?"
"Yeah, for the most part, it's the only entertainment being broadcast right now. No more Hunger Games re-runs and commentary shows."
"Apt alternative, I guess," Hazelle says. "So that was your night. What did you do today?"
"I was at the site but there wasn't much to do - and believe me, I tried. Even offered to put boards down on the mud but they had it covered. The town's really coming along. I think my job might be done for the most part," he tells her, and she can't tell whether he's disappointed. "I finally got around to mailing those letters at the train station, by the way. I should hear back from some friends soon if they want to stay in touch."
"Is that why you wrote letters instead of calling them?"
Haymitch nods as his eyes roam the blackness ahead of them. "Sometimes people belong in a certain place and time, so you might need to move on from them to move on in life. I don't want to infringe if that's their choice."
Hazelle frowns, looking away. "I guess so."
Haymitch bumps into her shoulder, and at first, Hazelle assumes he's just unsteady. But when he doesn't say anything, she peeks up and meets his reassuring look. "I don't mean that I'm like that, Hazelle."
She smiles and bumps him back. Thankfully, he and Katniss seem to have that in common, at least where Hazelle is concerned. "So you haven't been home all day?"
His expression sours. "Ever since I called Plutarch to stop sending liquor."
Hazelle stops short. "Oh."
Haymitch turns around, grimacing. "Yeah. That was another part of my day. Now I don't want to go home or else I'll do something stupider or worse, leave a mess for you, so..." He shrugs but facing him under streetlight, Hazelle notices how sickly he looks, his hair damp and skin waxen. His good hand fidgets with the wrapping on his sprained wrist, the other hand a shaky fist.
"So you're-?" Hazelle tries to finish his sentence but something like panic - hope? - rises in her throat. She searches his face and he looks back, and whatever Haymitch sees makes him chuckle, dry as dust.
"Let's not get too hopeful; I still have a kitchen full of liquor. I just... can't yet, and the kids and I both fucked it up even more," he mutters, then rubs his forehead. "Let's change the subject. I'm talking too much."
"As long as you go to the doctor tomorrow," says Hazelle in a measured tone, "and try to rest tonight."
"Yeah, yeah." Haymitch starts to walk again. While Hazelle is unconvinced, she reminds herself that she isn't on the clock - though this doesn't quite feel like a job to her. She follows beside him. "How about this: tell me what you've been up to, Hazelle, not just today but through the years - if you're up for it. Doesn't have to be everything right now," he tells her, "but I do want to know you."
Hazelle admits, "I've been wanting to catch up - really catch up - with you, too."
He half-smiles at her. "All right, then let's hear it."
"Where do I even start?" Hazelle ponders aloud. She's thought about having this very conversation for years, and now she isn't sure where to begin. She at least knows she won't start the night of the executions, after she left him. The same stars are above them now as that summer night, and she studies the pinpricks of light until she decides on a starting point. "Well, you probably figured this out by now, but Rohan Hawthorne and I married and have four kids together. He died six years ago."
"I know," confirms Haymitch, softly. "I remember that blast. That's a damn shame about Rohan."
"It was," she agrees. Another damn shame: it was Rohan who drove Haymitch away from the wounded in the square, ultimately away from the strike itself, before a grieving father could do so. But to hear this sentiment now touches Hazelle nonetheless. She wants this, recognizing grief where it's due without apologizing over themselves.
With a low whistle, Haymitch repeats in bewilderment, "Four kids, and your oldest is about grown. Fuck, we're old."
"Well, I was only twenty when I had Gale. He was a bit of a surprise," Hazelle discloses with a quirk of her lip and her shoulder.
Haymitch laughs so loud that Hazelle worries they're disturbing their neighbors. "You don't say!"
She elbows him lightly, shushing him. "Not like I was reaping age."
"Tell me, how mad was Dorothy?"
"Oh, she didn't speak to me until the toasting. Black lung took her soon afterward," Hazelle recounts, because it's just another part of the story, and Haymitch nods, somber but not surprised. It was a common death in the Seam, second to starvation, and most parents from their generation barely lived long enough to become grandparents one way or another. "I went back to work while my dad lived with us and watched Gale. We had Rory around the time he died, then Vick two years later. Posy was my last little surprise."
"She's cute - looks like you." There's an awkward beat. "I mean, uh-"
"I know," allays Hazelle, feeling heat bloom in her cheeks nonetheless. Haymitch clears his throat, and she studies the cobblestones as they tread over them.
They've circled around the Village, and Hazelle wonders whether they'll pass her house and make another round. She can't stay out all night with her children asleep at home. She remembers that she's with someone who pays her, too, and feels herself deflate with a sort of disappointment. Reluctantly, she asks, "Do you think this is okay, being friends while I'm also your housekeeper?"
Haymitch considers this for a moment, scratching the nape of his neck. "Frankly, I don't know much about being professional; I'm used to working with my friends and people that I detest, with not much else in between."
"That was different, though; you didn't have a choice. I want to work honestly." For all her planning, it hadn't crossed her mind that rekindling a broken friendship could impair their working relationship. Hazelle realizes she's as lost as Haymitch in the matter; while she's befriended fellow miners, she was only politely acquainted with her laundry clientele.
"If it bothers you, you don't have to stay my housekeeper - which would be awfully ironic, considering all the trouble we went through to make it all proper and official. You just made a sign-in for yourself," he reasons, a shade too earnest. "Or you realize I'm not worth the trouble."
She rolls her eyes. "No, not an option."
"Worth a try," he says, holding up his hands. He seems pleased, if a bit bemused. "I'd never fire you, mind, but you're welcome to find something else. In fact, I endorse it; lot more for you to do nowadays than put up with me."
Hazelle clicks her tongue in annoyance. "Please, I don't need any more lectures about how I'm wasting my potential. Apparently, now that the war's over, I'm supposed to have a newfound purpose in life."
Haymitch chuckles knowingly. "You liked spying for me, didn't you?"
She smiles at their having inside jokes again. "Because it was new. I was contributing to something bigger for once. I don't know whether that's what I actually want to do."
"Well, what do you want to do?"
Hazelle sputters out a laugh. Haymitch is silent as he trudges beside her, waiting. She shakes her head, confounded. "Oh, I don't know, Haymitch. I want to be with my family. I want my kids to be safe and happy and never miss another meal again."
"All right, but they are. So now what?"
"I... keep doing what I'm doing," she replies, voice lilting in uncertainty.
"I may be in the beginning throes of withdrawal, but even I can tell you that that's unnecessary," says Haymitch. "Gale's working above a collier's wages now, and I bet all the liquor in my cabinet that he ain't hoarding it for himself."
Her face pinches indignantly. "I don't want to live off my son."
"But you're okay with possibly crossing professional boundaries with a client?" he counters with a smirk. They've reached the front door of Hazelle's house but Hazelle doesn't want to leave on an unsettled note. Haymitch must have a similar thought; he pats her shoulder and says, "Relax. You don't need to change overnight or at all if you don't want to. But don't knock it just yet."
"I'll, um," she starts, "I'll think about it."
As they stand by the door, Hazelle realizes that she doesn't want Haymitch to go yet. Not only will she worry about him, but she'll miss talking with him, learning more about him and apparently even herself. She asks, "Would you like to come in for some tea?"
"Nah, I've taken up enough of your time. Don't want to risk waking your kids, either. I'll head back." Haymitch gestures to his head absently. "Need more pain meds right about now."
"I hope you feel better." Hazelle means it yet she can't meet his eyes. Unlocking the door, she urges quietly, "Please see the doctor, Haymitch."
A night breeze blows across the Village, stirring the trees into a gentle roar as the crickets warble. Hazelle shivers whereas Haymitch has been shaking in place since they stopped walking.
He offers her a half-smile that doesn't meet his exhausted eyes. "Have a good night, Hazelle."
AN: Rating change to Mature. This story has been more mature than teen-rated than I anticipated anyway so it's a correction of that as well as a warning for more adult themes to come.
