Chapter Text
The forest is quiet. The winter landscape is both comforting and disquieting, raising all sorts of painful memories. Still, the familiar crack of snow under my boots and the frosty air calms me down after a trying day.
I am not hunting today. It’s too late in the day for that anyway. I’m here for my own peace of mind. It is New Year’s. Another year lived without Prim. Without Peeta. Another year to survive ahead.
This time of year I cannot help but think about giving up. What is the point of continuing to live without the people you have loved most? Not living, really, surviving. Funny how I used to think we were surviving when we didn’t have enough food on the table, when a fear of being reaped loomed so large. Now I don’t have to worry about those things. Yet I am still surviving, living inside of my memory of what used to be, fantasizing of what could have been.
Today I visited Haymitch to make sure he didn’t pickle his liver to death. He didn’t wake up for long enough to hold a conversation. Greasy Sae visited to drop off some soup. The new Mayor came by to warn us about a visit from the Capitol. I didn’t care enough to ask for details.
Every winter someone comes around to check on us. Last year it was Annie; the year before that, a reluctant Johanna. I’m not sure whether someone makes them come here, or if they actually want to see us. It doesn’t matter.
Effie comes around often. Haymitch would never say it, but he likes her company. He gets almost sober when she is here.
I am indifferent to it either way. Nothing really brings me joy anymore. Even the forest that once was my home, my safe haven, has forgotten how to comfort me. At least the flashbacks aren’t as bad as they used to be. I am too empty even for the horrors of my life to haunt me. Just a consistant daze.
The daze is better than the alternative. The first few months were unbearable. The slightest reminder of Prim would get me either hysterical or catatonic. At the time Haymitch was staying sober enough to take care of me. I don’t quite remember those months. Just the overwhelming feelings of pain and loss.
With time the memories, instead of scratching at my soul like a jagged knife, started to become the only comfort I could find. Remembering Her, remembering Him, daydreaming about the life we could have had together, became the only pastime capable of balancing my thoughts, of bringing light into my miserable existence.
If the death of my sister had killed everything within me still willing to fight, the news about Peeta’s suicide in the Capitol left nothing worth holding onto.
I suspect that the visits from our rebel friends are mostly to check whether I’d killed myself already. Every time they leave I think about giving them what they expect.
As I walk through the woods absentmindedly, I notice where my legs had brought me. The lake, frozen in the winter, glimmers in the evening sun.
I stop to take in the beautiful view. The small cabin is still there, looking worse for wear after years of disuse. The sun is starting to set, barely visible through the trees, but still lighting everything in soft orange hues. I finally understand why I came here, what I am meant to do.
The ice is still thin and easily breakable, so I crack at it with my foot, making space for what I am about to do. I pick up a few heavy rocks to put in my father’s jacket’s pocket. I almost feel sorry about taking it with me, but the thought of someone finding it here and going to look for my body is too disturbing to consider it. Better for me to simply disappear one day. No one would be too surprised.
I take a deep breath and step into the freezing cold water. Without taking too much time I swim under the layer of ice, so that even when my body starts to fight me for survival there is no way for it to surface. The cold is bone-chilling, and as the clothes start weighing me down and it gets harder and harder to move, I feel myself lose sensitivity and control of my limbs.
I drift downwards, towards nothingness. My mind is blessedly empty. I heard that people see their lives flash before their eyes when they die. Now I am glad that this isn’t true for me, although I find bitterness in the fact that my consciousness refuses to show me my Prim for the last time.
The burn in my lungs is the last thing I feel...
…before a set of hands gripping me by the waist, dragging me upwards with force.
When my face hits the air I take a gasping breath, despite my unwillingness. My breath turns into cough as I feel water passing through.
I open my eyes to see that the hands who pulled me out belong to a man I haven’t seen before, who is also gasping for air, but still holding me tight. I start treading water instinctively.
He presses one arm around me, the other treading water, trying to get me to the shore. I pull away and take a good look at him.
He is still gasping for air, out of breath after saving me, but now that he doesn’t have to keep me afloat he looks me over. His eyes are grey, his hair dark, an unmistakable Seam look to him, that makes me wonder how I have never seen him before.
“So you CAN swim?” He sputters. He looks annoyed, which in turn makes me annoyed.
“I didn’t ask to be saved!” I yell at him, trying to avoid getting water in my mouth.
“So you’re crazy then!” he yells back and turns away, treading towards the shore.
“Is she alright?!” I hear a loud high-pitched voice. Looking around I see a girl with her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. That is not what startles me enough to almost start drowning again in shock.
Around her, the world is summer-green without even a hint of snow. Now that I am paying attention, the lake water is warm, no trace of the ice that was supposed to be my last resting place.
I am confused enough to miss the next interaction between the man and the girl, but I do notice him reaching the bank and then going back towards me, trying to help me to shore again.
“Come on then,” he says, much calmer now.
I don’t fight him this time, letting him move me, still in shock.
Is there a sane explanation for what just happened? Have I died and gone to the hereafter? That must be it. But where are my loved ones, if that is the case? Or are there multiple worlds for spirits, depending on where they died? Am I now chained to this lake?
In my musings I haven’t noticed that we’ve reached the shore, but I do notice a towel being placed on my shoulders by the girl.
“Are you alright there, sugar?” Her voice is soft and lilting, with a strong Twelve accent. Her eyes are deep with worry.
I try to find an answer to that, when the man interrupts, “She tried to kill herself!” He points at me, his anger back in full force.
“Don’t yell at her, Billy Taupe! She is in shock!” I hear her tell the guy that saved me. Now I can clearly see that he is not yet a man, but a boy of sixteen or seventeen. The girl is so small and light, she looks even younger.
“We come here with the kids; what if they found you instead? How do you even know this place?” he continues. The girl is stroking my hair gently, with such compassion and kindness that it almost makes me want to cry.
“Go dry off, I’ll take care of her,” she tells him. The boy stomps off with a huff. “Don’t you mind him. He’s grumpy because he got scared. He’s not the best swimmer,” she tells me with a smile, like sharing a secret.
I still can’t put my mind in order, after the strangest of experiences in my life. I take a good look around the place.
It’s still the same lake, just as I always remembered it. The nature around is bright and alive, the sun blazing hot. It feels like August. Looking closer I can even see katniss flowers, where they look ready to be harvested. The cabin, dilapidated in my memory, looks as good as new. Or maybe not new, but as secure and well-cared for as I have ever seen it.
“Am I dead?” I ask. It’s hard to decide what answer I am looking for.
“No, sugar,” the girl answers, her brows creased in worry, “You are alive. What is your name?”
Her voice is so calming and motherly that it makes me forget to come up with a lie or a story, as I answer: “Katniss. My name’s Katniss Everdeen.”
Her face lights up. She smiles at me. “Nice to meet ya, Katniss. I’m Lucy Gray.”
***
Lucy Gray helped me dry up and calm down enough to properly talk. I didn’t know what so say about how I ended up here, so I didn’t say anything. She didn’t push. She offered to sing me a song and I agreed, sitting side by side, looking at the lake.
Now, listening to her clear and tender voice, I start thinking over my circumstances. If I am indeed not dead, then where am I? In a different time of day and year I can only assume that this is a dream. Am I hallucinating before passing on? Or have I travelled through time? If so then how much? I have never seen the cabin look like that, even when I went to the lake as a child with my father.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and startle violently. As I jump up and turn around I hear Lucy Gray stopping her song and snapping her head around. The person who desturbed the peace is a boy, about eleven or twelve years old. He has a cheeky smile on his face and is holding something in his hands.
“For our new friend.” He opens his hand and I see berries. They are freshly picked and look much bigger than what can normaly be found in the forest this time of year. Looks like he hand-picked only the best-looking ones for me.
“CC, don’t you go sneaking up on us!” Lucy Gray chides him. I continue to stare at him, not sure whether to take the gift or not. He then takes my hand and places the berries in it himself. When I look back up at him he is already running towards the tree line. “I told Barb Azure to watch the kids so that they don’t overwhelm you with their chaos. Looks like they got curious.” Lucy Gray stands up with me and hands me my father’s jacket from where it was drying out.
“Thank you,” I say, “and thank CC for the berries from me. And Billy Taupe for…” I trail off, not quite ready to say the words.
“Of course, Katniss. It’s what anyone would’ve done,” she reassures me. She eyes the berries still in my hands, “Eat up. Some sugar can do you plenty of good. Or you can take them back home to share.”
As she says that I tense up, realizing that no matter what world I just arrived at, I don’t have anywhere to stay, no family to help me. Well, the second part is true even in my real world, but then I at least had a house to sleep in.
Seeing my reaction Lucy Gray takes me by the arm and gets very close. “D’ya have a home, darling?” She is practically whispering, searching my face for the answer. When I stay silent she sighs. “Poor thing. Does it have anything to do with those burn scars?”
Suddenly I see her logic. The scars from the bombs that killed my sister have never truly healed. I was too deep in my own misery to take care of them then, and now they look just as red and angry as the day my life went to ruin. Lucy Gray probably thinks that my house burned down and I tried to drown myself from the grief. I decide to let her think that, it is better than explaining my story from the beginning. I nod and her face crumples with sympathy as she gently strokes my arm.
“How old are you? Do you have place to stay? With grandparents, or…” she speaks carefully, picking her words and watching my reaction. “Are you even from Twelve?”
I think about it. What story could I give her that wouldn’t arise suspicion? Surely, she doesn’t know everyone in the district, so no need to lie about that. On the other hand, the fire story is easy to disprove. If there was such a devastating fire, everyone would know about it.
“Twenty,” I finally answer. I don’t know the right strategy yet to say anything else. Peeta would have been so much better at this than me, he was always so good with words.
Lucy Gray studies me for a moment. “Same as Tam Amber then.” She squeezes my shoulder, like a long lost friend. I can’t help but be ashamed. This teenager is comforting me - an adult. She looks like she knows hunger just as much as I knew it at her age. And she is already taking care of kids that are not her own.
It dawns upon me, suddenly, just how similar our lives seem to be, at least on the surface level. I guess she is a bit luckier than me to have so many people around her. Billy Taupe, Barb Azure, Tam Amber - I don’t know these people, but somehow the trust in her voice lets me know that they are her family, that she can rely upon them.
“Tell you what. Come with us. You can live with the Covey for a while. Our old man died recently, so no one to protest. At least until you get better.”
Her smile is honest and reassuring. I hate to be on the receiving end of pity or charity, but it looks like I don’t have much choice in the matter. At least if I want to live on. Which I haven’t decided yet, but somehow this girl beside me makes it difficult to consider suicide as my only option.
I don’t mention what “untill you get better” could possibly mean, since I am not sick in the physical sense of the word.
“Thank you,” I whisper, “Truly, thank you.”
“Eat the berries. I’ll go gather everyone for introductions,” she tells me and hops toward the trees.
***
The Covey, as they are called, are traveling musicians. They have been living in Twelve since the Dark Days, but not of their own choice. With those clues, I’ve determined that I must have travelled back in time, when the Dark Days were within the living memory of these children.
I meet CC, whose full name is Clerk Carmine, and thank him for the berries. I am properly introduced to Billy Taupe and I thank him as well. The others are: Barb Azure, a tall slim girl, a little older than Lucy Gray, but still of Reaping age, Tam Amber, a young man (but older than me, so I am unsure why Lucy Gray had compared us) with dark skin and curly hair, and Maude Ivory, who looks so much like Prim when she was smaller that it catches my breath.
It becomes quite obvious that Lucy Gray, despite her younger age, is a natural leader to the group. At least no one is contradicting her, when she informs them that they are taking in a stranger.
After the introductions are made, the boys go fishing and girls start foraging. I join them, the forest is as familiar to me as it is to the Covey. At one point Lucy Gray starts humming a tune, and Maude Ivory joins her. Soon the Mochingjays pick it up and the whole forest sings with them. I can only watch in awe.
“Can you play any instruments? Or sing?” I hear Maude Ivory ask me and I find myself smiling.
“No, I am not very musically inclined,” I say with a regrettable sigh. Maude Ivory doesn’t seem too upset by the news.
“We could teach you! The drums are very easy, and I am a very good teacher. Tam Abmer can make you a flute, he is so great with his hands! Or we could try the harmonica…” she continues on with childish enthusiasm that paifully grips at my heart. Still, I smile and nod when she expects me to, caught up in the memories.
“Katniss, darling, would you help me with the fire?” I hear Lucy Gray say. I turn to say sorry to Maude Ivory, but she just shrugs and catches up to Barb Azure, so I go towards Lucy Gray.
“She can be a lot sometimes,” Lucy Gray tells me, but I shake my head.
“No, she’s wonderful,” I say honestly. Lucy Gray smiles at me. The fire is already burning. “Do you need help with something?”
“Not really, but I thought you might want to ask some questions.” She looks at me intently.
I think it over. I don’t entirely trust these people, even if they are just a bunch of children. I don’t know them and can’t presume their motives. I don’t think I can ask too much. Not if I want to avoid suspicion. Yet, there is something I simply must know.
“Do you know what year it is?” I ask and cringe at my words. Surely there must have been a better way to ask this than to seem like a lunatic. Lucy Gray widens her eyes. I shift nervously.
“Year Nine since the Dark Days.” She answers seriously and sits closer to me.
I don’t react physically, I already had a feeling that I had traveled back in time, somehow, but the number makes me pause. Year Ten since the Dark Days was the year when someone from District Twelve won the Hunger Games. The timeline is too suspicious to be a coincidence. Despite not knowing what or why brought me to this time, my mind pictures a scenario where I have to compete in the Games again. Did the universe decide that the Games are the only thing I am good for and bring me back to this time to do it again? How many times do I have to participate in Child Slaughter Festival, how many revolutions do I have to lead, how many people do I have to lose to finally be able to die in peace? The thought makes me sick to my stomach. That is, until I forcefully remind myself that I am no longer of Reaping age. This fact puts me slightly back at ease. Still, how am I here and why? And will I go back to my time if I try to drown myself again? Or did I die in my time, and this is, somehow, my second chance?
“Oh, Katniss,” Lucy Gray gets my attention, “how long have you been living in the woods for?”
I startle. Again, it looks like the story writes itself. Lucy Gray’s assumptions put together make a sad but believable tale. One where I lost everything to a fire and escaped to live in the forest. It would explain how I know it so well, why nobody from the District recognizes me, why I don’t have a home and why I tried to kill myself.
Meanwhile, she hugs me. I haven’t felt such a comforting presence in so long that I involuntarily hug her back.
“You don’t have to survive again,” she whispers in my ear, “we’ll take care of you.”
I, somehow, find myself believing her.