Hi again :)

My continuing thanks to Shrrrgnien for her amazing beta-ing/ editing/Thaliafying.

:D

Chapter Two: Shock

Primrose Everdeen?

I step back – shock freezing my limbs, locking them in place. This had not been part of the plan. I knew about her; who didn't? Katniss Everdeen's little sister, the one she had volunteered to save. I remember painfully clearly the look on Lady Artemis' face that day; the reapings are always hard for her.

My hand clenches on the bow. Her identity should be irrelevant; I can't care. I know perfectly well that I can't show mercy, can't show weakness…that any alliance I make, I will soon have to break. Surely it's better, kinder, to kill her now, instead of gaining her trust and betraying her later?

I raise my bow again, draw the shaft of an arrow to my ear, then lower it again, fighting myself. She's only a child…and the look in her eyes…

"You're Thalia, from District Seven. You got an eleven in training. Just like my sister." She says the last part in a barely audible whisper, and my heart tightens.

"Yes…..I did."

There is a moment of silence, and a few tears slide down Primrose's face.

"Are you going to kill me?" Her voice trembles, breaking through her fragile mask of courage. She edges back, grasping a tree trunk for support and defense. Fear is etched into her face…. It is the face of a girl who senses her own death is imminent and knows she can do nothing to stop it.

My hand drops to my side, the bow now hanging loosely by the taut bowstring. I sigh. "No. I'm not."

A sharp intake of breath betrays her surprise at my response. She jerks her head in an imitation of a nod, but the hours spent still have made her body stiff and resistant. Her soft blonde tresses fall in front of her face as she pulls herself shakily to her feet.

She wipes her eyes with shaking hands, before extending one in my direction. An offer of alliance.

"Please, call me Prim…" Her voice is timid, and clearly still suffering from the effects of terror. I hesitantly take the outstretched hand in my own, watching as the first signs of hope appear in her eyes.

"Prim." I try to give a reassuring smile, despite the guilt stirring in my stomach, knowing that I will someday very soon have to murder this girl. She seems encouraged anyway, bobbing her head enthusiastically, and she drops her arm to her side.

A second of silence passes between us, before Prim leans forward—balancing on her toes, her arms ever so slightly extended. Her eyes focus on my own, and she cocks her head. "You're...you're…"

I frown. "Prim?"

She leans in closer still, frowning slightly as she squints in an effort to see in the fading sunlight. "It's just…your skin…just…for a second, it almost looked like you were glowing…"

"Trick of the light," I say hastily. "I...I almost thought yours looked silvery for a second, too." I do my best to avoid her gaze, instead listening intently to the sound of the wild. It's a skill I've learned from my goddess over the centuries; relaxing, simply letting the subtle melody of the forest wash over me, cocoon me in its warmth, its comforting presence-

"It's kinda pretty." Her voice shatters the delicate symphony that had maintained its oh-so-fragile balance in this alien environment; a world so different from the vast forests I call my home. This one was artificial…engineered. It felt so wrong.

My head snaps back to the young girl as I quirk an eyebrow. "Thank you."

I receive a smile in return; the first genuine one since our encounter. I let a small grin break through my pretence, leaving it there just long enough not to raise any undue alarm with my new hunting partner.

I exhale slowly, noting how the harsh breath brushed against my lips as it escaped.

"We better set up camp."
-

I examine our chosen base, glancing over the rudimentary barricades, which Prim had insisted on building. At best, they might deter some of the creatures which undoubtedly call this fake forest their home, but against other tributes or mutts they won't do much of anything. Ideally, I would have gone further up the valley, but Prim was clearly exhausted from both the mental and physical trials she had experienced.

I glance over at the little girl, observing as she ties the leather jacket around her waist, clutching at the material with trembling fists as she fights against the icy breeze, which has blown up without warning. Not even my father is this interfering when it comes to weather. Biting back a derogatory comment about the Gamemakers' subtlety—or lack thereof-I return to my work, unaffected by the wind. There are benefits to being the daughter of the god who controls weather.

My hand strokes the leather handle of the knife in my belt, and I realize that my new ally remains unarmed. "Can you use a knife, Prim?"

She nods her head mutely, and I hand her the knife; she takes it in her petite hands, clutching it like a lifeline.

Her gaze flicks to my hands, which are working rhythmically to coax a flame out of the wood. "Isn't that dangerous? What about the others..?"

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she glances around frantically, smiling slightly as I continue, until the smoke thickens and the first sparks dance into the twilight sky.

"I'll be waiting for them."

"Right…." she says softly, edging closer to the flame, which now bathes our camp in its warm glow. A few moments of silence fill the air, which is occasionally disturbed by the welcome crack of the firewood. After a time, Prim speaks again.

"What's it like in District 7?"

I lean my head against the trunk of the tree I'm propped against-my eyes scan the night sky. "Well…there are lots of trees."

"Please…tell me more."

I concede; after all she has lost her home, her district- that land of grey. And now of red and black, the ground stained with the blood of the dead, painted in the ash of their bodies. But I've never actually been to District 7; if I start to describe it in detail, someone is bound to get suspicious. I glance up at the moon; no doubt a projection, but if Artemis is watching—I pray she is—she will recognize the plea for help.

I all but cry with relief as a familiar voice fills my mind. Softly, copying Artemis' tone exactly, I act as her mouthpiece.

"It's an ocean of emerald, of jade—more beautiful than the glisten of the most precious of jewels. In the spring, when the first petals emerge from their winter slumber, the land becomes a mass of purple and gold. During the summer, the valleys and hills all but sing…and the scent of…the scent…"

I pause, as Artemis' voice has faded, leaving nothing but an overwhelming feeling of…loss? Why? Then I remember hearing those words—those exact words—once before, and I realize what caused her to break.

I'm describing her home on Delos.

Prim, who had been gazing up at me in awe, catches my hesitation. "You miss your home, don't you?"

"Yes," I answer truthfully. Even if it wasn't the one I was describing.