I Learn Why

Strong, Proud, Like Her

I was never good at hunting, though my mother was. So in the forest, holding a tiny bow that looked like hers and squatting behind a bush, I was terrified.

"There," my mother whispered, and silently lifted her arm to point at a squirrel all the way across the clearing. "Aim for the eye."

"But I don't want to kill it!" I spoke normally, and became pleased as I watched the squirrel scurry away from us. I had just saved a little animal's life, and I didn't care if I would go hungry.

Mother shook her head, almost dissaprovingly, but with a smile. "You're just like..." But then she trailed off, a shadow crossing her face.

"Who?" I asked, and put my bow down beside me. A leave brushed my face, and I itched the spot as I waited for my mother to say something.

"Nothing, no one." Her eyebrows became creased and frustrated, like she was thinking and holding back tears at the same time. "Next time that squirrel comes, you're shooting it."

I picked my bow back up and notched an arrow, careful and precise, just like she taught me to. "Do I have to?"

"If you want to survive," she said flatly, and stared off into the distance, into the dense trees surrounding us. "Hunting feeds you."

"Why can't I just bake bread like Father?"

She looked down at me, almost angrily, but softened at the last second. "Because bread is not meat, and you need meat to grow."

"But my teacher said that milk makes you grow."

"Your teacher did not teach you everything yet, little duck." There is was again, that nickname. "You need a lot more things to grow."

"Like what?" I questioned, curious.

"You need water, vegetables, fresh air, sleep..." She listed many other things as she turned back towards the forest. I zoned out, leaning against a tree trunk behind me, and listened to her voice and the birds.

"Ivy." I turned to see another squirrel. "Now aim for the eye," my mother whispered, and we took up matching positions, pulling our arrows as far back as we could. My heart started to beat faster and faster as the stupid creature turned its head, right in front of me. "Ready?" I nodded, the two fingers on the arrow becoming sore from waiting. "Let go."

~~

I carried my squirrel into the Seem, many people smiling at me. The packed soil beneath our feet gripped our boots at me traded slowly to my mother's favorite trading stall.

"Hello, Greasy Sae," my mother greets the little old woman, and she smiles an almost toothless grin. In front of her was a table, her lower half hidden with trinkets, and a giant pot with a boiling liquid that made me want to run back home.

"My Mockingjay!" she says back, genuinely happy to see her, and then looks down at me with some sort of disapproval. I've known this lady all my life, but she still scares me. "And what did the little huntress shoot today?"

My mother smiled at her, while I cowered there like the little girl that I was. "Squirrel, all by herself." She sounded proud.

"Right in the eye," Greasy Sae agreed, and took the meat from me with her slender, bony fingers.

"Could we trade it?" Mother asked, and studied her face, pressuring her to answer, and answer fast. But I knew Sae well enough, and she was not one to break under my mother's authority.

"Hm," she said, and I clasped my hands behind my back, absently shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "I suppose so."

"Strawberries, please." Mother spoke quick, knowing that if she didn't her deal would go through the cracks, disappearing before her eyes.

"Half pound?"

"Yes."

I assumed my mother and Greasy Sae had a connection of some kind, one of dependence and loyalty, from the looks of it. At six I didn't see it, really, but I should have.

The lady handed me the berries, looking at me straight in the eyes. "You look like your father."

"Y-yes," I stammered, child-like and weak.

"Sit up, don't slouch," she scolded, and I took a step back. "Don't drag your feet."

"Thanks," my mother said, and ushered me off. I eventually calmed down enough to stop walking with stiff, short strides and began to skip along, gripping the little box to my side.

"Why doesn't she like me?" I questioned, and along the Seem's streets carts rolled by with vegetables and fruits.

"She doesn't dislike you," my mother answered behind me. I could hear her boots squish through a muddy puddle that I had jumped over.

"Why does she call me a huntress?"

"Because you hunt."

"Why does she tell me to do things?"

"Because she doesn't want you to slouch, like I used to."

"You never slouched, Mother."

"Used to."

I stopped and turned around, my two braids slapping my face as I came to a halt.

"She wants you to be strong, proud." She smiled down at me, her single braid resting over her hunting jacket.

"Like you?" Her little smile became a grin as she pressed her lips against my forehead and gripped my free hand.

"Like your father, and yes, like me."

>>listened to Fix You, Coldplay, while writing.