Cato and Clove

Clove packed lightly. Two knives sat on her hip, sharp and ready to pierce whatever armor Katniss wore- whether physical or imagined. Clove’s words to her mother had been sharp- unthankful for the disarray that the house had come into. Mothers of careers didn’t try to hug their daughters- the girls needed to be strong, nurtured only by the milk of training and hard work.

Clove’s pack sat on the bed- two days worth of clothes, a small smattering of things to barter- waiting for her to go. Before she left, she scrubbed herself down in the shower. Her old house once had a bath, but the new home her mother had taken had only a slim corner of a bathroom to wash herself in.

When she got dressed, her shirt hung loose over her body, the collar dipping low and while the fabric dangled over the concave of her stomach. She’d never truly experienced hunger, but the last three years had given her far more appreciation for food that she ever wanted. The pack went over her shoulder and she departed her home, nudging the door shut with her foot as she headed towards the station to take the train to District 12.