Preface
They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with the blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifeteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I felt her stirring within me, I was consumed by a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much.
The questions are just the beginning. The arenas have been completly destroyed, the memorials built, and there are no more hunger games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about a world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed a grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes,
And when again they open, the sun will rise.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Heere the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tommorrow brings
them true
Here is the place where I love you.
