[The picture is all but shredded now. Tiny little pieces sit in her hand. She looks down at them, looks at the forest surrounding them. Looks at the lake. And then quietly, she rises. In a show of trust, the bow stays on the ground where she had previously sat. But if Clove does try anything, she has other weapons on her.
She stands by the water's edge, looking at the ripples. Then she opens her fist and lets the wind catch the pieces of photos. The first land on the water's surface and slowly sink under.]
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She stands by the water's edge, looking at the ripples. Then she opens her fist and lets the wind catch the pieces of photos. The first land on the water's surface and slowly sink under.]