Hi everyone! This is my fist story on FanFiction! Yay! It is very short, just a little oneshot between Katniss and her future daughter. Please read and review!

Disclaimer : I don't own the Hunger Games. If I did, Finnick would still be alive.

Little Duck

I sighed, throwing down the crumpled bread in frustration. In an effort to expand my hobbies after our children were born, Peeta attempted to teach me how to bake. He had given up after I continued to confuse sugar and salt, but I was determined to at least make a proper loaf of bread for my children. So far, I haven't had any luck. I snuck a distracted glance out the kitchen window, smiling softly at the sight of Peeta's arms lifting our son and spinning him in the air as he giggled gleefully. It had been hard carrying Mason, as it was with Calla, but the joy of holding my children in my arms banished any fear or doubts I had. Peeta, of course, was an amazing father. I felt like I was still trying to get on my feet, even after eight years. I loved them, more than life itself, but… it was hard to let myself love something this much. When I held them as children, this crippling terror would worm its way into my heart. It is hard enough loving Peeta. They could all be gone, so quickly and easily.

A soft rustle interrupted my musings. I turned around, my heart stopping when I saw Calla standing there, in a very familiar blouse and skirt. Prim's. From Reaping Day.

"Look at what I found, Mama!" She cries.

I feel tears prickle my eyes. My heart can't tell the difference now, between Calla and Prim. They were so much alike – Calla had my bronzed skin and chocolate hair, along with Peeta's eyes, but her personality was nearly identical to Prim's. It may as well have been Prim standing before me, trying not to cry as I braided the final locks of her hair. Prim should've been here, for Calla's fist words, Mason's first steps, should've been beside me at my wedding.

"Oh, Calla." I sighed. "Where did you find those?"

She smiled and gestured up the hall to the closet, where I thought I had successfully locked away all of Prim's dresses.

"Well, darling, you look beautiful." I say breathily, putting a bittersweet smile on my face. She took this opportunity to twirl, watching her skirt float out like a blooming flower. I let a tear roll down my cheek.

All of the sudden, I felt a pair of thin arms wrap around my waist. I look down and see Calla's worried blue eyes peering up at me.

"Mama? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Darling." I respond.

She doesn't know yet. About Peeta and I, about the Games, about any of it. She will though, when we find it within ourselves to give her the real story. Not just the facts, not just how so-and-so died and who won what battles. The emotions of the war. We'll teach her Prim's bravery, Finnick's sacrafice… Rue. We'll teach her that they were much more than Games.

"Mama, do you want me to put this stuff away?" She asks.

I respond, "No, Honey. Keep it. It's yours now."

As she smiles and turns to walk away, I smile and sob at the same time. The back of her blouse has come loose and is hanging out the back of her skirt. I reach my hand out and slide it back in, running my hand softly over her hair.

I say, "Tuck your tail in, Little Duck."

Fin.

Read and Review, My lovely little Mockingjays!