Isra was gone and Katniss had never felt more alone. She had no friends here, something she was quickly realizing. Isra and Eik had always been there for her and before them, it had been Metaphor. They were all gone and she was still here, picking up the pieces of her broken heart and not even bothering to put the pieces back together again. Kibou, bless his soul, was trying his best to make his mother happy, but the colt just didn’t know how. He hated seeing his mother so depressed and he usually prayed to the gods that someone would come along that would once again make her smile. It didn’t have to be a lover, he would be happy if it were only a friend. Katniss had heard his prayers and she had wished she could tell him that things were not that easy. Katniss didn’t really believe in magic or miracles like that. But she said nothing, wanting his hopes and dreams to keep him smiling. After all, someone needed to.
But today, Katniss decided that her time for mourning had come and gone. It was time to reintegrate amongst the herd. She still did her duties as Champion, but that was really it. Today she made a promise to at least try to be more visible. The people needed to see that she was strong when they couldn’t be.
And so, Katniss came down from her mountainside cottage and began to meander the streets. Despite the void of darkness her heart felt like, she displayed herself with erect posture. She kept her neck arched, her eyes forward, her ears alert. She looked strong and ready. She looked put together. But there was no one left who knew that she was really about to crumble.
As she meandered her way through town, she paused at the base of the citadel. This was the place where she had built the pyre for Metaphor. This was where she had said her final goodbyes. Every time she came by this place, she placed a bouquet of flowers. There was no gravestone to place them on, so Katniss simply laid them in the street. People would not remember that night, not like she had. Pulling the flowers from her satchel, she laid them on the cobblestone walkway, sighing as she looked down at them. It was then that she offered Metaphor a moment of silence. “He’s got your heart, Metaphor…you would be proud of him.” Her voice was nothing louder than the smallest of whispers. The words were not meant for anyone else but herself. But behind her, a steady clip clop of hooves caught her attention. Slowly she craned her head to the side to see the paint. Morrighan. An individual she knew by sight and reputation, but never had met the woman. She dipped her head in greeting. Nothing to see here.
@Morrighan
