[It's what their lives are. The were tributes. Blood and death would always be in their minds.
The picture Katniss-- District Twelve holds is a bold, blatant lie. It hurts less. Running through these woods, hunting or playing. Swimming in this lake, splashing each other. Laughing. They had all been happy; they'd never killed or almost been killed. It is all such a fantasy that losing it doesn't hurt.
But Cato. Cato, who curled around her in bed and kissed her when she secretly wept over the past, present, or for no reason at all. Her husband and co-victor. Cato, who she could still feel and half see cradling her and pleading. "C'mon, Clove. Just stay with me. We're going home. Clove. Stay with me."
Did he hear her? Did she even speak? She thought she told him she was fine. That she expected him to win. That...]
Three tributes left. [She knows the heartless Games.] It wasn't the mutts.
[The control in her voice is, perhaps, remarkable. especially considering the few tears streaking her cheeks.]
no subject
The picture Katniss-- District Twelve holds is a bold, blatant lie. It hurts less. Running through these woods, hunting or playing. Swimming in this lake, splashing each other. Laughing. They had all been happy; they'd never killed or almost been killed. It is all such a fantasy that losing it doesn't hurt.
But Cato. Cato, who curled around her in bed and kissed her when she secretly wept over the past, present, or for no reason at all. Her husband and co-victor. Cato, who she could still feel and half see cradling her and pleading. "C'mon, Clove. Just stay with me. We're going home. Clove. Stay with me."
Did he hear her? Did she even speak? She thought she told him she was fine. That she expected him to win. That...]
Three tributes left. [She knows the heartless Games.] It wasn't the mutts.
[The control in her voice is, perhaps, remarkable. especially considering the few tears streaking her cheeks.]