A/N: Hi everyone! I am SO sorry for the (completely unfair) delay in the second chapter of this story. I thought I had the second chapter all figured out... until I went to write the thing. I struggled with it for quite a bit before I realized it simply wasn't working. Then school and personal things got in the way, and I simply decided to leave this story as a one-shot... so as to begin working on a full-length AU rewrite of the series! I've had ideas simmering on the back-burner for the past several months (and 12+ pages of notes to prove it too). I haven't yet decided if I will split up the rewrite into three separate stories or lump it all into one. Regardless, events will roughly follow the events of THG, CF, and MJ, with approximately 20 chapters each. So to begin making up for my authorial cruelty, I've included an excerpt from the first chapter of Forging Unity. Enjoy!

I feel it before I hear it. The air crackles with energy radiating from the electric fence which surrounds District 12, coaxing each hair on my body to bristle. As the fence comes into view, I hear the distinctive low-frequency hum alerting me to the presence of electric current. I am nearly an arm's length from the fence when the weight of my confinement hits me. My heart beats sporadically inside my chest, my breathing short and erratic. My purpose for coming here weighs on me like a stone in my pocket, tangible but invisible. The sound of rippling electricity brings me back to myself, as if I'd walked into a room only to realize that I had forgotten my purpose for entering in the first place. Waves of disappointment wash over me, followed by the overwhelming sense of failure at having been thwarted in my mission, and culminating in the feeling of dread at having forgotten my purpose entirely. I stem the swell of panic threatening to overflow inside of me.

A passing shadow and a fluttering of wings snaps my eyes up to the top of the fence. Not a shadow, but a mockingjay perches delicately on the uppermost wire. He (or is it a she?) cocks his (or her?) head from side-to-side at me.

"Hello," I say and sing a four-note melody. The mockingjay mimics the tune in a high sopranino. "So you're a girl then, huh? And how is it you're not toast?" I remark, eyeing the wire incredulously. The mockingjay continues to stare at me unblinking as if trying to make up her mind. Apparently decided, she takes flight towards the woods.

Tentatively, I reach for the wire with one finger. I feel no current through my fingertip even as I continue to hear the low hum. The fence is completely dead. What I thought was the tell-tale hum and crackling electricity radiating from the fence was actually pulsing ambient energy—but from what? I push the thought away as I slip under the fence. After all, whatever I meant to do by coming here is surely on the other side. The mockingjay is waiting for me when I emerge, perched on a slender aspen branch. As I approach her, she takes wing once more and leads me deeper into the trees.

As I walk, I take note of my surroundings: a small juniper tree, barely even a sapling; a small, rounded boulder with an oddly-shaped bulge on one side and moss covering the entire opposite face; and the fallen trunk of a rotting dogwood which I nearly trip over in my haste. I am completely at home in these woods. I've been in them almost every day since I first started to hunt for my family. And yet, somehow, I can't shake the feeling that these woods are not the ones I call home.

Another mockingjay bearing a short melody joins my escort. She's a quick study, and the two quickly begin to sing together. The melody tugs at the back of my mind. It's very short, no more than five notes, but it flickers in my recollection like a half-remembered nursery rhyme: an entirely familiar tune which conjures the first couplet in a quatrain while the second half remains elusive and the rhyming pattern incomplete.

I can't remember where I've heard this before, or when—or from whom. Someone had to start it, and it wasn't me. At this thought, I quicken my pace. Within a furlong, I come upon a man in a coal-mining uniform walking ahead of me. My breathing is ragged from the exertion, and my heart feels fit to burst out of my chest. I want to cry out to see if he will hear me. Dad? I follow until I catch up to the man. I reach out to him and touch his shoulder, the word bubbling up in my throat. The man turns around to face me and—

Blue eyes. That's the last thing I remember when I wake up. As he turned around, only the man's startling blue eyes seared into my memory. He wasn't my father, then. My father's eyes were gray.

I've had this same dream for the past several months. Thankfully, it's not the same nightmares that have plagued my subconscious since my father's death in a mine explosion four years ago. No, this dream was different.

It always starts the same way. I find myself drawn to the electric fence which surrounds District 12 by a force stronger than even the solace I seek in the outlying forest in my waking life. A mockingjay catches my attention overhead, beckoning me to follow. At first, I could only remember crawling under the fence. Later, I could remember following the mockingjay a short distance upon waking. Lately, I've been recalling a distinctive rock or species of tree along the path I continuously follow. Even so, I invariably wake with the frustration of having not reached my destination once again. This time was different. This was the first time I encountered another person in my dream: the faceless man with the startling blue eyes.

The mental exercise of summoning the visage to my mind's eye allows my brain to join my body in full consciousness. The effort is futile. The man's face remains enigmatic, but I can think more about that in the woods. Hunting has a way of clearing my mind, allowing unconscious thoughts to surface. The sun is already up, anyway, and I should've been in the woods by now. Gale will be waiting for me, no doubt checking his snares.

I groggily roll my unwilling body out of bed, haphazardly slipping on my hunting boots. I dress in my hunting clothes the night before in order to have an early start. So much for that. I reach for my father's hunting jacket. As if summoned by the texture of smooth leather under my fingertips, the memory I had been trying to salvage from my waking dream resurfaces.

"Are you?" the man asks.

"Yes," I state firmly.

Yes what?

A/N: I hope to post the complete first chapter within the next two weeks so be on the lookout for that! You all already have an idea of where we're heading, obviously, but I have SO much more planned for this story, and I am VERY excited to share it with you guys! Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome, and thank you so much for your support.