They talk about frivolous things. Greasy Sae. A new snare technique. Prim’s goat. Silly, inconsequential things. Because it is too hard to find the words for those other things --
Sometimes I wish that there had been a cannon for me.
I’m going to die in those mines, just like my father did.
Katniss pierces a squirrel expertly through the eye with an arrow, and they discuss the kill at length. Far too long, really. Anything to fill the silence. To prevent their tongues from spilling out things they can’t take back.
Does God forgive murderers?
I hate the boy with the bread.
They take off their shoes when they reach the stream, dipping their toes in the cool, clean water. It seems strange in its normalness, but not unwelcome. Katniss smiles, remembering the time that Gale tripped over one of his own snares and ended up drenched. Gale rolls his eyes, and in the space that it takes him to think of a retort the unspoken begins to seep in.
Forgive me.
I ached without you.
When he finally kisses her, it somehow feels impossible and inevitable at the same time. They had never been talkers. A dart of the eyes, a tensing of the shoulders, a silent footfall on a forest floor -- that had always been their language. And so it is no surprise when their lips meet that their tongues somehow know to tie together into a knot of words unspoken.
no subject
Sometimes I wish that there had been a cannon for me.
I’m going to die in those mines, just like my father did.
Katniss pierces a squirrel expertly through the eye with an arrow, and they discuss the kill at length. Far too long, really. Anything to fill the silence. To prevent their tongues from spilling out things they can’t take back.
Does God forgive murderers?
I hate the boy with the bread.
They take off their shoes when they reach the stream, dipping their toes in the cool, clean water. It seems strange in its normalness, but not unwelcome. Katniss smiles, remembering the time that Gale tripped over one of his own snares and ended up drenched. Gale rolls his eyes, and in the space that it takes him to think of a retort the unspoken begins to seep in.
Forgive me.
I ached without you.
When he finally kisses her, it somehow feels impossible and inevitable at the same time. They had never been talkers. A dart of the eyes, a tensing of the shoulders, a silent footfall on a forest floor -- that had always been their language. And so it is no surprise when their lips meet that their tongues somehow know to tie together into a knot of words unspoken.
I am broken. Please fix me.
Nothing will ever be the same between us.