"No, Peeta. Pull back a little further, until your fingers are against your jawbone," Katniss instructed with a smile. She took the bow she was holding loosely in one hand, and demonstrated, quickly fletching an arrow.
Peeta sighed, and tried to copy Katniss' pose. She made it looks easy, simple, beautiful. There was a sort of easy elegance to the way she held the bow, and how calm and precise her face looked while she aimed. One thing Katniss had never gave up after the war was hunting. Like painting was for himself, hunting was Katniss' therapy.
"This is harder then it looks," he said. Katniss smiled a tiny bit at this.
"So is painting,
Sixty Years Later.. by Gryffindorlover, literature
Literature
Sixty Years Later..
The old woman sat in her rocking chair by the warm stone hearth, watching her granddaughter read a book near the fire. It was a peaceful moment, and the woman closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. It was one of the good things in living in District Seven, it had none of the hustle and bustle of the other districts. It was quiet. The only sound was the rock of her chair, the turn of pages and the crackle of fire. But too soon, the silence was broken.
"Grandma, what were the Hunger Games?"
The old woman's eyes flew open with shock, then she sighed. It wasn't inevitable, she thought to herself sadly. She was bound to ask some time.
"They
