[Arrow by now notched, she turns around at the sound of a voice. The voice is familiar, as is the nickname given. But the tone seems off. Wrong. It's not the normal mix of grudging respect and frustration she's used to hearing. It's... weaker than anything she's ever heard the girl speak.
Except once.
The expression on the girl's face seems to match. And she remembers the strange behavior both Cato and Clove exhibited the last few days. The way he actually apologized to her.
The arrow's put away and the bow is slung back over her arm.]
no subject
Except once.
The expression on the girl's face seems to match. And she remembers the strange behavior both Cato and Clove exhibited the last few days. The way he actually apologized to her.
The arrow's put away and the bow is slung back over her arm.]
I am.