After the rebellion

Girls Day

*Katniss Pov*

There's a certain kind of quiet I've come to appreciate, a gentle quiet, not the sharp-edged silence of fear, but the kind that comes with soft mornings and warm arms. 

I wake up to Peeta brushing flour off his hands and Willow babbling from her crib in the corner of the bedroom. 

The sunlight is golden and clean, and for a moment, I just sit there in bed, listening to my daughter's soft coos like music.

Peeta kisses my forehead as I gather her into my arms. "You're sure you're okay going today?"

"I'm not breaking rocks, Peeta. I'm sitting with my friends."

He raises an eyebrow. "You have friends?"

I swat him with a pillow as Willow giggles between us, clapping her hands like she knows she's at the center of everything good. Maybe she is.

_

Willow babbles in my arms as I walk to Annie's house, trying out new sounds, pointing at birds and the glint of a sunbeam on a puddle. 

I nod like I understand every word.

Annie opens the door before I can knock. Her long red hair is braided down her back, and there's a soft ease to her smile now. Not all the time, but enough that it feels real.

"Come in, come in," she says warmly.  3 year old Finn's already asking where Willow is.

Finn appears behind her legs, gripping a toy boat and staring up at Willow like she's the moon.

 She reaches for him with sticky fingers, and they exchange babbles as Annie helps me out of my coat.

"I brought honey biscuits," I say, holding up a small cloth-wrapped bundle.

"Oh, bless you," Claudine says from the armchair, already holding a mug of tea with one hand while Lillian tugs at her shoelace with the determination of a cat. 

"These kids have more energy than a barrel of tracker jackers."

"You say that every time," Johanna calls from the kitchen, where she's pouring something into a kettle. "And every time, you're still here."

"I'm here for the snacks," Claudine shoots back.

I laugh, and the sound catches me by surprise. 

It's still strange sometimes, how easily I laugh now. Not constantly, not like Peeta, but in the quiet of days like these, it bubbles up without resistance.

Willow wriggles until I set her down, and she waddles right toward Lillian, who claps her hands in delight. 

They're eight months apart, but Willow follows her like a shadow. 

Lillian is already a talker, pointing and announcing things with confident declarations like, "Block!" or "Mine!" 

Willow, still more observer than speaker, just nods solemnly, as if Lillian is imparting ancient knowledge.

Hunter, Claudine's two-year-old, stomps into the room in his usual whirlwind of energy, a wooden sword tucked into his waistband.

 He brandishes it at Finn, who defends himself with his boat, and for a moment, chaos reigns in the gentlest way, squeals, giggles, and a lot of tripping over small feet.

I settle down on the big rug with Annie beside me. The window light slants through the curtains in golden beams. The kettle whistles. Life feels soft here.

"Johanna brought fruit," Annie says, passing me a plate of sliced apples and melon.

"I brought wine," Johanna adds, striding in with two glasses already half full. "Because we deserve it."