But, You're Dead? [Clovniss]

The Second Time, A Week After The War

The second time it happens, it's a week after the war ended.

Katniss sits in the blooming meadow, a small picnic spread out on a worn blanket in front of her. Her bow and quiver are leaning against an old, weather log, her hunting jacket carefully folded up beside it.

She's enjoying a still warm roll with bacon layered on top of it, a tall glass of orange juice sitting beside her leg. The sun is warm on her face, a welcome change from the cold and constant breezes. Katniss can tell snow is on the way, she can feel it in the air.

The archer hears a crack of a branch being broken, as if something had stepped on it. Her instincts taking over, she's on her feet with a notched arrow aimed at the trees in seconds. She scans the treeline without moving her body, fingers twitching against the smooth wood. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her.

Clove is wearing black combat and a bordeaux hoodie today, a throwing knife twirling around her nimble fingers. A smirk curls the corner of her mouth up just slightly, her dark eyes trained intently on Katniss. The bruise on her cheekbone is fully healed, but her jaw had light bruising gracing the sharp edge of her jaw.

Katniss feels herself begin to shake, a barrage of memories assaulting her brain, but she soldiers through. She adjusts her aim so that the arrowhead is ready to pierce Clove's heart, forcing herself to focus on the mission.

'She's not real. She's not real.' Katniss chants, shaking her head against the nagging voice. 'She died in the Games. You heard her cannon go off, I remember Cato's screams. You watched her die. This isn't real.'

As if on cue, Katniss's mind is bombarded with images. Images of that horrible day. Clove looking terrified as Thresh choked her and shouted in her face. The knife thrower frantically screaming for Cato while Thresh bet her head against the silver metal of the Cornucopia. The sickening crack when Thresh threw her against the Cornucopia for the final time. Clove's fingers twitching as the life faded from her eyes and her blood coloured the grass red. Her unseeing eyes stitched into a mutt's head.

By the time the images cease, Clove is long gone. Katniss sighs softly in relief, lowering her bow and dropping it back beside the log. She turns back to her blanket to continue enjoying her picnic, only to nearly scream in shock and fear.

A throwing knife juts out from beside her jacket, a torn and crumpled page pinned to the wood with the blade. There's no signature or identifying marks, but it is clear who it is from.

'You need to be more careful, Twelve. Start covering your tracks again and stay inside at night. People hate you for what you've done, people who would pay big money for you to die. The people trying to kill you are already here, but I'm handling them. I've killed plenty of people getting here, watched people I knew die, and I sure as hell can do without watching you die. I might go even crazier than I already am. Stay safe, Fire Girl. Try not to die on me.'

Katniss grabs her jacket, bow and quiver before she sprints the entire way back to her house, abandoning her picnic. She spends an hour rigging traps around the house and surrounding area, before spending the night in front of her bedroom window. A combat knife is tucked under the cushion of her plush armchair, worn blanket pulled over herself.

The next morning, Katniss finds her picnic basket sitting on her doorstop. The note, now folded over twice, is left on the lid, the knife keeping it from fluttering away with the wind.

The third time after it happens, it's a month since the war ended.