[She had watched them arrive, hope getting the better of her every time she had heard of the arrival of a new feather. Every morning she awoke and reached for the journal. Checked it multiple times a day. And, of course, before she went to sleep at night. Before hunting, before cooking, before any responsibility that she had, she looked. Looked and hoped.
But it was to no avail. Peeta didn't return. Neither did Rue or Haymitch. And no new familiar face from home graced the journal's pages.
With the exception of Cato and Clove - dead tributes who tried to kill her once, who still haunted her nightmares at night, who were now reluctant allies - she was alone. There was no one else from Panem here. No one else who knew what it was like to grow up in a district, to know of Hunger Games and Hollow Days.
Instead, it had been holidays. Celebrations and unexpected gifts. So many gifts, more than she expected. It had made her flustered, given Katniss more reason to keep to herself for the days (make that nearly the weeks) that followed. There had been contact here and there but for the most part, she had felt better alone. Or as alone as she could be with Buttercup still refusing to leave her company.
But the solitude could only last so long. Peeta's not here. There had been no bittersweet reunions for her this time around. But she wasn't alone. She didn't understand it, but there were people here who liked her. Maybe she still didn't understand. Maybe she'd never understand the effect Peeta claimed she could have.
Her grin is a little crooked and a lot bittersweet when she turns on the video feed. She sits on her couch, a snow frosted window behind her. With this heavy snow falling, it's impossible to hunt. She's grown restless. And, yes, lonely. But where to start. That's the hard part. And the grin fades as she thinks, as she once again loses herself in thoughts rather than focus on the present.
But, finally, she does speak.]
Does anyone know how to work the battle dome? I can't hunt. While it snows like this. [It's awkward, strange to admit to her restlessness, her inability to do the one activity that helps her cope. Strange, more so, to willingly ask for help. Someday, somehow, she'll accidentally owe a debt here she can't repay.] And I can't use the targets outside of the smith shop.
I have my own bow. [Two now, though she's still not certain if she's grateful for the arrival of the Mockingjay bow.] And arrows. I just need the targets to practice with.
[She hesitates. There's something else she should add. So many debts. Too many. Maybe it's time to start repaying. There's not much she can do well, but that she can, she can do very, very well.]
I'll teach you how to shoot in return. I'll teach anyone who wants to learn to defend themselves against the Malnosso.
But it was to no avail. Peeta didn't return. Neither did Rue or Haymitch. And no new familiar face from home graced the journal's pages.
With the exception of Cato and Clove - dead tributes who tried to kill her once, who still haunted her nightmares at night, who were now reluctant allies - she was alone. There was no one else from Panem here. No one else who knew what it was like to grow up in a district, to know of Hunger Games and Hollow Days.
Instead, it had been holidays. Celebrations and unexpected gifts. So many gifts, more than she expected. It had made her flustered, given Katniss more reason to keep to herself for the days (make that nearly the weeks) that followed. There had been contact here and there but for the most part, she had felt better alone. Or as alone as she could be with Buttercup still refusing to leave her company.
But the solitude could only last so long. Peeta's not here. There had been no bittersweet reunions for her this time around. But she wasn't alone. She didn't understand it, but there were people here who liked her. Maybe she still didn't understand. Maybe she'd never understand the effect Peeta claimed she could have.
Her grin is a little crooked and a lot bittersweet when she turns on the video feed. She sits on her couch, a snow frosted window behind her. With this heavy snow falling, it's impossible to hunt. She's grown restless. And, yes, lonely. But where to start. That's the hard part. And the grin fades as she thinks, as she once again loses herself in thoughts rather than focus on the present.
But, finally, she does speak.]
Does anyone know how to work the battle dome? I can't hunt. While it snows like this. [It's awkward, strange to admit to her restlessness, her inability to do the one activity that helps her cope. Strange, more so, to willingly ask for help. Someday, somehow, she'll accidentally owe a debt here she can't repay.] And I can't use the targets outside of the smith shop.
I have my own bow. [Two now, though she's still not certain if she's grateful for the arrival of the Mockingjay bow.] And arrows. I just need the targets to practice with.
[She hesitates. There's something else she should add. So many debts. Too many. Maybe it's time to start repaying. There's not much she can do well, but that she can, she can do very, very well.]
I'll teach you how to shoot in return. I'll teach anyone who wants to learn to defend themselves against the Malnosso.
