Sunrise on the Reaping (A Hunger Games Novel) (The Hunger Games) [Spiral-bound] Suzanne Collins

When Lenore Dove comes to me now, she isn't angry, and she isn't dying. I take that to mean she's forgiven me. She's aged alongside me, her face etched with fine lines, her hair touched with gray. It's as though she's lived her life beside me through the passing years instead of lying in her grave. She remains rare and radiant. I kept my promise about the reaping—or at least lent a hand—but she says I can't join her yet. I have to look after my family.

I first saw the girl at the Hob when she was just a baby. Burdock was so proud of her; he toted her around everywhere. After he died in that mine explosion, she started coming alone, trading the occasional squirrel or rabbit. Tough and smart, her hair in two braids back then, she reminded me for all the world of Louella McCoy, my sweetheart from long ago. Once she volunteered for the Games, that nickname slipped out inevitably. I didn't want to let them in—her and Peeta—but the walls of a person's heart aren't impregnable. Not if they've ever known love. That's what Lenore Dove says, anyway.

I didn't want anything to do with their memorial book after the war. What was the use? What was the point? Just to relive all the loss? But when Burdock's page came up, I had to mention him showing me the grave. I felt compelled to tell them about Maysilee Donner, the former owner of the mockingjay pin. And how Sid loved the stars. Before I knew it, everything came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades-in-arms, everybody—even my love. I finally told our story.

A few days later, Katniss showed up with an old basket filled with goose eggs. "Not to eat. To hatch. I raided a few different nests, so they can breed all right." Never mind that we had roast goose for dinner. She isn't an easy person; she's like me, Peeta always says. But she was smarter than me, or luckier. She's the one who finally kept that sun from rising.

Peeta built some kind of incubator, and when the eggs hatched, mine was the first face those goslings saw. Sometimes they just graze on the grass, but on fine days, we wander over to the Meadow. Lenore Dove likes it best there, and I'm content wherever she is content. Like the geese, we truly did mate for life.

I'm not sure I'll be around much longer. My liver's wrecked, and I only stay dry when the train's late. I drink differently these days, though—less to forget, more out of habit. When my time comes, it comes, but I've no idea when that will be.

I know one thing, though: The Capitol can never take Lenore Dove from me again. They never really did, not in the first place. Nothing they could take from me was ever worth keeping, and she is the most precious thing I've ever known.

When I tell her that, she always says, "I love you like all-fire."

And I reply, "I love you like all-fire, too."