Safe and Sound

Chapter Twenty Three - Meaning Behind the Mockingjay

I looked back down from the sky and slowly walked back over to Grayson. I clutched the feather and the parachute in my hand, as if they emitted some sort of life support. Grayson looked down on me, still looking both shocked and amazed.

"Let's go and find a tree or something." I whispered. Grayson nodded and went back to our stuff. He picked up his backpack and slung it onto his back. He picked up my bow, quiver and backpack. He looked up at me. I turned around and smiled. I then put the feather down on the floor where Grayson and I had danced. I turned to Grayson and held out my hand. He knew what I wanted. Grayson reached into my quiver and pulled out one of the silver arrows. I still had many left over. If I tipped my quiver upside down, perhaps only a couple would shift slightly, but none would fall.

I took the arrow from Grayson and turned back to the feather. I then rested the arrow atop of the black feather, lying it down diagonally. I then turned back to Grayson, who was giving me an encouraging smile. I took my backpack and quiver from him, then took my bow as I slung them onto my back. Grayson then started walking into the thicker trees, but I looked back. I looked back upon the place where we had danced all those minutes ago and where I had been recognised by District 11. Grayson and I had supporters now. We had people that were going to watch over our backs and that were going to be betting us, people who were going to be hoping that if their tributes don't make it, that one of us will. For some reason, that felt better than expected.

I smiled towards the dark sky, before catching up with Grayson. I couldn't describe my current emotions, there were no words that I could have used. A whole new vocabulary would have to be written for me to find a suitable word. Grayson looked at me, a small smile evident on his face, despite the darkness. A few mockingjays were still chirping his tune, but it was now considerably quieter. However, it still hadn't lost its magic touch.

"Grayson, we've got supporters." I whispered to him. He raised his eyebrows then gave the sky a quick glance. I nodded at him. "It's true. The Flaming Mockingjay is getting about."

"I just hope she's getting about for the good reasons and not for the bad." He replied, looking back down at me. "Let's go and find a tree now." I nodded quickly in reply. We continued onwards until we found another thick tree. I climbed up and Grayson even managed to climb up by himself. Admittedly, he was still slower than me, but I had had years of practice under my belt whereas he only had a few days.

"Day thirteen tomorrow." I said as we set up the sleeping bag. I was a little shocked that we had been in the arena for so long and that we were still able to walk. The fact we were still breathing was breath taking enough on its own.

"Yeah. Nearly two weeks. It feels more like two years. You know what I mean." Grayson said as he took his backpack off. He looked up at me and smiled. "I'm actually quite shocked at how you've managed to keep that feather in your braid for so long."

I looked down at my plait then lifted the end slightly. I twisted the braid between my fingers, feeling the feather that was still woven into it.

"I don't know why that's surprising, you wove it in quite tight." I answered, dropping my plait and taking my backpack and quiver off, placing them nearby. I dropped my bow next to them, then took off my belt. I sat down, but I didn't crawl into the sleeping bag just yet. "I didn't think you would have experience with hair and stuff. Presumably I'm wrong." Grayson chuckled lightly.

"I have younger sisters, remember? I don't exactly plait my hair every morning. I don't think it's long enough." He ran a hand through the messy mop atop his head, "I could probably give myself a tiny ponytail though. I would look beautiful with that." It was my turn to chuckle now. I subconsciously fiddled with my ribbon, which triggered a thought in my mind.

"Grayson, do you have a token from home?" I asked as casually as I could. I sincerely hoped I hadn't struck a nerve, but presumably I hadn't. Grayson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small, black and shaped like feather, speckled here and there with white. In fact, it was a feather. A mockingjay feather. "I guess I'm not the only one who likes mockingjays."

"See, just like I said, I can trust mockingjays. They never lead me astray. But just because it's a mockingjay feather doesn't mean that that is the only reason why it's my token. It's the meaning behind the mockingjay. You see, the meaning is the sister that was closest to me. The one who would come running to me whenever I came home and would ask to see what I had done, the one I shared a room with. Brooke Stengard was her name. She was six years young and she loved mockingjays. She obsessed over them and whenever a feather fell into the border of Twelve, she would pick it up and keep it. She had a huge collection. This one was her favourite." He gestured to the feather in his hand, "I don't know why, but this was the one she always asked me to put in her hair, the one that she stroked when she was nervous and the one that she carried on her person. When she passed away near Christmas, I was heartbroken. I haven't touched her collection. Well, al except this feather. It's mine now and I don't care that my parents think otherwise. Brooke would have wanted me to have it, to carry it in my Games, to give me hope when I need it the most." He put the feather back into his pocket and straightened himself upright once more. I gave him a smile, one of empathy and slight joy.

"Brooke really seemed lovely, Grayson. I'm truly sorry." I reached out and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. "Mockingjays really are becoming a real symbol of District Twelve, huh?" I said. Grayson nodded, but then he yawned. I smiled. He reminded me of a cat when he yawned; it was actually quite adorable. "And it really is time for bed. We're going to be real rat-bags in the morning. I'll watch for a while, I'll wake you if I need you."

Grayson nodded in agreement, before clambering into the sleeping bag. He handed me his belt and I put it round his waist, belting him to the branch. He then closed his eyes and snuggled down. He was facing me, but he was lying on his side. His breathing was slow and steady. He was tired. I looked down at this boy.

This boy that had made his hair blue by accident. This boy that had scared me stupid when holding a knife. This boy that had found my arrow and feather and kept them in his backpack the whole time. This boy that nearly killed me with one of his knives. This boy that had moved so in sync with me, like we were meant to be partners. This boy that had helped me run from fire and steal from the Careers. This boy that had danced with me, dancing in the face of death, still wearing a smile as if there were no Games, as if there was no locked fate for the two of us.

This boy, this very one, that I had somehow allowed myself to grow attached to. In what way, I wasn't quite sure yet, but all I knew was that while this attachment lasted, we were going to get one thing: a flame. And we all knew what you get if you touched flames:

You get burned.