Timber

Chapter Sixty-Four: Homecoming

Stepping out of the train station, Hazel sucked in a lungful of crisp mountain air. The mid-evening sunlight was harsh and unyielding, but the air held the refreshing scent of newly cut timber. Despite the homey sights and smells, panic smoldered beneath the surface of her composure.

Hobbling forward on the crutches, she took in the sheer number of her people. Their faces stretched as far as the eye could see. For a moment, it was as if they all were holding their breath, Hazel right along with them. She stared at them, and they stared right back. Her people bore sun-kissed skin and sawdust-coated hair. Their limbs were marked with the scratches and marks of days spent working under the open sky. Their clothes, though simple, were the uniforms of those who worked with their hands for a living. How different they were from the polished, extravagant crowds in the Capitol, where everything glittered and gleamed with artificiality. Here, there was a rawness, a rough sincerity that made her feel at home yet, at the same time, made her feel like they could see through the fakeness. Suddenly, her golden and white outfit was suffocating, absurd, and out of place, like wearing a costume. Would they accept what had happened? Did they see her as a hero or maybe a monster?

Her stomach churned, and she straightened her shoulders. She pulled herself forward, following the peacekeepers who carried Silus. The crowd seemed to ripple and hum as they parted like a wave, allowing the convoy through.

She bit down on her lip as she looked around her home. Streets she had walked a thousand times seemed unfamiliar, and the people she had known all her life scrutinized her as if seeing her for the first time—or perhaps they were seeing her through new eyes. Uncertainty colored many of their faces as if they tried to reconcile the girl who had left with the victor who returned. Maybe they aren't completely wrong. I'm not the same. The green flag over Silus's casket fluttered. I will never be the person I was when I left here.

Her family walked behind her in silence. Oren's arm was wrapped protectively around Fern, holding to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Oren and Fern each held the hands of one of the twins while Sage clung to Rowan.

Leo, Bellona, and Sable flanked Hazel, a glaring reminder of how the life she returned to had irrevocably changed. They kept a respectful distance but remained close enough that she could practically feel their eyes.

Then, a noise began to rise from the crowd—like the beginning of a song, a few unsteady, unsure notes that grew louder with each passing minute. Hazel froze and frowned as she scanned the sea of faces, her brain reeling as she recognized the sound—applause.

Faces she had grown up with blurred together; many were beaming at her with pride flavored with abject pity. But there were others whose gazes were harder. Yet the applause grew as she passed.

Rowan's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, a whisper in her ear, "Welcome home, sis."

His words were enough to ground her, if only for a moment. Hazel swallowed, forcing herself to push down the rising tide of anxiety. She wiped the last remnants of tears from her skin, trying to steady her breathing, forcing a soft yet reverent smile onto her face.

As she moved forward, the presence of camera crews scattered throughout the crowd became more apparent. They were like flies caught in a bowl of soup. No doubt present at the command of the Capitol. As her gaze drifted over the press members, a young voice called out her name, and the applause began to wane.

Hazel swiveled her head until a small girl broke away from the crowd. She was clutching a bushel of magenta-toned wildflowers with a few scraggly dandelions poking through. The girl looked to be around seven, with tousled strawberry blonde hair; her eyes were wide as she held out the bouquet.