Cold hands, warm heart (Aramir)

[Kheft]

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On this harbor shore
We hear the ocean call
In our minds at war
We have so far to go
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A wintry storm rolled in overnight. The sky, opening its mouth, roared fury down on the little fishing village. It was a Sunday, though, and all the weather's bad humor achieved was to make the fishermen and their families grateful for the four walls that sheltered them from the elements. Snow and ice spun in the gusting air, pelting the glass windows and causing them to rattle in the frames.

The day passed quietly for the DelMar residence with her mother absorbed by mending work for the town-folk - as it was her want to take in tasks that supplemented their income - while her father spent all day in the barn out back. As one of the village's carpenters, his work knew no weekends, and the current project was repairing a damaged hull for one of the neighbor's fishing dinghies. He had promised the job to be completed before the new week. Sam spent the time completing homework for Monday's schoolday. So, their weekend closed with relatively little disruption.

Monday dawned with sparkling blue skies and the promise of rejuvenated spirits, as though all the dark thoughts and anxieties the reaping had brought were scrubbed clean. Bells clanged cheerily announcing the departure of the fishing fleet for the day as Sam scampered barefoot through the house gathering her books, coat, boots, and lunch. A long woolen scarf wound about the neck muffled her breath into small, steamy puffs as she slammed through the front door and took off running along the snowy path leading down towards the village schoolhouse. The two buildings loomed in dark lumps beneath the white frosting that coated the slate roofs and dripped in shimmering icicles from their eaves.

Children stamped and skidded with boisterous energy from their various directions to converge on the front yard, separating out with the younger ones entering the eastern building and the older high-schoolers occupying the western. Classes commenced with the warning toll of the second bells, their tones a deeper bass than the earlier charming clang of the ships.

Sums, English… the subjects blurred together and dragged interminably. Never an avid scholar, Sam found today especially intolerable as her mind was nowhere near the problems set out by the teacher, and rather focused on her after-school errand. Her fingers found and softly rubbed the knitted sweater that was folded up and tucked inside the lid of her desk. It was still a puzzle how freely Gage had offered it, leaving himself shivering in only shirtsleeves. Time to continue thinking about the matter was cut short, however, as she was called on to read aloud from their history book.

When the final bell rang, dismissing the students for the day, she lingered, letting the other kids push and shove their way out the doors and scatter for home, a few lingering in clusters to gossip or exchange pleasantries. Sam gathered her belongings, and instead of turning for home, she made the short trek across to the high schoolers' building. A small copse of wind-bent trees sheltered a portion of the yard beside the gate, and Sam perched herself on the fenceposts beneath them to wait; her vivid hair making a splash of color against the stark white snow.

It was a familiar routine for Sam, waiting here in just this spot for the older kids to be released from classes. Their's running an hour past her own. She had always waited for Brooke, so the two could walk home together. The DelMar's lived further off the docks than most in the village, and it was a good thirty minute hike to the outskirts of town before you reached their house.

Brooke always said that a little exercise never hurt anyone…and the view was worth it.

The sound of the bell brought her from the reverie and the doors burst open like a cork from a bottle. The kids spilling out into the yard. A couple of boys set to gathering snowballs which they pitched at a cluster of girls who squealed and turned tail, running for the doorway and nearly bowling over its occupant.

Sam sat up straighter on the fence as she recognized Gage, and raised a hand to offer a shy wave.

[Kheft]

"Saamina?"

His expression changed from abstract boredom to one of confusion and some surprise. The look gave her a pause, and she lowered her hand slowly, uncertain how to interpret it. He certainly did not seem pleased to see her, not that he had any reason to be.

I did make a scene and run off with his sweater, although you think he would at least be glad to get it back. Looks like he found another in the meantime.

The sweater lay draped across her lap, and she quickly seized it, waving it overhead, with a sudden need to prove a legitimate reason for being there. Her feet scuffed along the fence rail, knocking small clumps of snow loose with intermittent plops. Until this moment, she had intended to return the sweater, and maybe spend a few minutes talking to Gage before heading for home. Now an overwhelming shy awkwardness plagued her, and kept her from running up to him immediately. Instead, she waited for him to maneuver around the group of girls and approach her perch.

"Hi…" the greeting came out less cordially than intended, and she cleared her throat, trying again. "Umm, hi Gage. I just…well I accidentally left the other night with your sweater. I thought you'd probably appreciate having it back." Her voice rose slightly, turning the sentence into more of a question, as though she wasn't certain that he really wanted her to give the sweater back.

Nice, Sam…really casual.

After months spent in nearly self-inflicted solitary confinement, it was suddenly much harder than she had thought it would be to hold a natural conversation with another human being. Her, that everyone used to call golden-tongued…who could talk her way into and out of nearly any situation. This was ridiculous.

[Kheft]

Her fingers rubbed the sweater one last time with something like a little goodbye to the garment. It might to seem odd to anyone privy to her thoughts, but for some reason she felt comforted by it. The way the knitted fabric encased and overflowed her torso and arms was similar to wearing one of Brooke's old shirts when she was little. She would get into his closet and dress up in his shirts, emerging to prance around and taunt him as he pretended to angrily chase her about to retrieve the items. She passed the sweater to Gage and watched as he smiled at it fondly, folding the garment with care…and then handing it back to her.

"Thank you, Saamina. But I'd prefer you keep it. My father’s sweaters are pretty lucky. And he always told me to spread a little luck before he died."

Her eyes widened, and she hugged the sweater against her chest, arms crossing over it before tilting her head to peer upwards at the tall boy. It might be the first time she had ever looked squarely at him. His spiky brown hair stood in disarray, as though the wind had been his personal stylist. The look was eccentric and made Sam grin, reflecting the smile that was creasing his mouth.

"It's really beautiful, Gage…but don't you want it? If it was your father's sweater, I know those things are pretty special, 'least they are to me. I'd hate to take it away from you."

There was something about his eyes that was gentle today, as if he was exerting himself to look harmless. His movements were subdued and slow, like someone would act around a wounded animal that you wanted to help, but who might suddenly turn on you at any moment.

He thinks I'm unstable, like I'm going to have another meltdown any minute.

The realization was embarrassing, but also made Sam grateful that he cared enough to try and ensure her comfort. Most people would have taken the sweater back and left, they didn't stick around to talk with someone as uninteresting and insignificant as the daughter of the village carpenter. Only Brooke had ever taken time to listen to her and let her talk…rambling on about inanities in the way she loved to, letting words flow in a amusing stream of consciousness. It had entertained him, but to anyone else it was just silly prattling.

Sam sighed, she suddenly really wanted this boy to talk to her. She was tired of talking to herself, the conversations were getting boring.

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She hugged the sweater closer. For some reason it delighted her that he was offering it, like a token of trust. Her face, reflecting that appreciation, blossomed with a genuine smile.

“Tangible memories are precious, but all that really matters is keeping your mind strong. Do that, and you’ll never worry about forgetting someone.”

She considered that for a moment and nodded in agreement.

Even if I lost anything Brooke ever gave me, he would still be an indelible piece of my heart. Things aren't what we really treasure, it's memories.

Her next words echoed the thoughts in her head, unintentionally conveying them aloud.

"Memories are something the Capitol can't take away or control. So I guess we are all rebels in our heads and hearts." She stopped with abrupt surprise when the words echoed in the afternoon quiet. Her expression vacillated between wariness over the nature of her statement, and an angry stubbornness that colored it heartfelt.

Saamina bit her lip and tilted her face back enough to look upwards, where dark clouds were scudding back over the sky, turning the afternoon darker. Snowflakes were now falling in little flurries that caught on her lashes and planted cool kisses on red cheeks.

"It's snowin' again, going to get a lot colder here soon." Her guys skittered to Gage's face and then away again. "I shouldn't be keepin' you out here, probably need to get home." She felt reluctant to end the conversation, however, giving motivation to make a quiet offer. "I was headin' to Margot's," she shrugged, naming the little dry-goods store and delicatessen that serviced the dock workers, "She sometimes makes me a cup of tea or cocoa after school…she'd be ok if you wanted some too."

Despite the attempt to sound uncaring, her words quivered with a little bit of hope that he would accept. The elaborate shrugging of her shoulders which nearly sent her toppling off the fence did no better in smothering the tone.

[Kheft]

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In unending storms
We search for space to breathe
How our hearts are worn
We've come so far
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She hopped off the fence, causing a small avalanche of snow to shake free and land with a soft patter about their feet. A blue canvas pack rested almost unnoticeably beside the base of a tree, which she retrieved. The sweater was carefully placed into the mouth of the bag, and then hefted onto the skinny girl's back.

"Alright. I stopped feelin' my fingers about five minutes back, so let's get that cocoa."

Her bright red braid whipped the air as she took off at a brisk trot down the path until they hit cobblestones underfoot signaling the docks were close by. Her feet skipped nimbly, avoiding the small potholes hidden by rapidly accumulating whiteness, leaving little clusters of footprints in zigzagging patterns. Taking a few sharp turns between houses and shops, they finally emerged onto the main street running through town, and a wind-worn wooden sign swung from the awning overhead - 'Margot's'.

Cling …the minature bell strung by wire from the door jangled cheerfully as the two blew in, bringing a puff of icy air and snowflakes with them. A large-boned woman looked up from behind a display of canned goods and waved a calloused palm towards Saamina. Her build was rotund around the middle (and every place else), but with an obvious muscling to arms and legs from hard work. Despite this, the face attached was pleasant and rosy-cheeked, with curly black hair tucked into a neat bun. She bustled over to them and hugged Sam so emphatically that the small girl very nearly disappeared into the woman's aproned bosom.

"Saamina DelMar, where have you been? I've had your mug sitting on the counter every day for a week with no sign of you." She broke off only to finally release Sam from the strenuous grip, and the girl gasped for air before managing an answer.

"Sorry Miss Margot, the teachers have just loaded us down with lessons, and I help Mum after school with the mending sometimes last few months. She's been getting a lot more work lately." She paused to tilt a freckled chin towards Gage, "This is my friend, Gage. I thought maybe you'd have an extra mug of cocoa for him. This cold was about to make cripples of us both!"

In less time than it took the bell to stop ringing, Sam and Gage were both seated in a warm corner of the shop, a keg of molasses between them that served as a small table for two mugs of steaming chocolate and plate of crisp ginger cookies. Without pausing, Sam snatched a cookie and set to dunking it in the rich drink, eyelids fluttering shut as she bit into a soggy corner.

"Mmmm, Margot's always made the best ginger cookies. They were Brooke's favorite. She made them for him after school, loved Brooke like he was her baby." Sam paused to lick a bit of froth from her upper lip, "Guess she carries on the tradition with me because of that."

[Kheft]

The warmth and comfort of the shop enveloped her like an old and dear friend. Many, many afternoons had been spent just so, curled up in a corner with the same cheerfully painted mug that Margot's husband Peter made for her. It had been her and Brooke, and then when Brooke was gone, Margot made sure that she still came by for cocoa and cookies. It was hard at first, being here without him, but time dulls all pains. It wasn't bad memories anymore that lingered here, only the peacefulness of feeling at home. Sam could feel herself visibly relaxing, falling back into an well-loved tradition. It eased some of the tension that Gage inexplicably stirred in her.

Her reference to Brooke was evidence of that. She never talked about him to other people, but his name had slipped like second-nature from her lips. Gage's question now hung in the air, and she reached for a second cookie while contemplating how much she felt like exposing. The ginger cookies were crisp, and the spicy pungency coated her tongue, washed down with the rich sweetness of chocolate. Her eyes wandered to the front window, through which snow was visible, falling in a beautiful dance of pale flakes on darkening skies.

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I close my eyes and hope they do not fade
These remnants of a voice and a smile
Images of landscape, cloaked in forest green
Like your life unfolding mile by mile
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After the long silence, she murmured quietly, "Brooke's my brother." She strove to maintain an enigmatic expression, unwilling to allow this still relatively strange boy an opening into the wound that felt raw despite the passage of time. Instead, she hopped up and momentarily excused herself to carry the empty cocoa mugs back to the kitchen.

Margot took the opportunity to unobtrusively leave off arranging displays and stop beside the small table Gage now occupied alone. Her expression was careful, and she watched the doorway Saamina had disappeared through while she spoke in lowered tones.

"I couldn't help hearing you asking after Brooke. I don't mean to interfere, but she don't talk about him much…I'm actually surprised you didn't already know the tale. It was all the talk for a while, such a shame. Brooke was a good lad. Those two were a pair, never saw one without the other. She all a chatter and him never saying a word. About two years ago, Peacekeepers took him and…" She made a vivid swiping gesture to emphasize the words, "Cut out his tongue. Shipped him off to the Capitol. Family ain't been the same since. A real shame I say." The tap of feet on the floorboards sent Margot retreating back to her work, and Sam reappeared, flopping into the vacated seat.

She squinted at Gage thoughtfully before asking, "You never told me what you were planning to build that night on the beach. Tell me the story now?"

[Kheft]

Her brief retreat into the kitchen was as much an excuse to shrug off the surge of unwelcome emotions as it was to return the mugs. Margot's husband was in the backroom, and she passed him on her way back. His warm smile and easy mannerisms were a soothing note that she always anticipated in her visits. No less so today, and she found that it helped settle her again so that when she rejoined Gage, it was in a better frame of mind.

Gage, on the other hand, looked shell-shocked. He stared at her as she crossed from the doorway with a look that was at once curious and sympathetic. Like someone might look at an unusual fish caught in the net. Sam hated that look instantly. This wasn't the role she wanted in their friendship...friendship? That thought paused her for a moment before it was filed away to consider at a later time. The obvious point was that he had either read more into her words about Brooke than she intended, or had already known about it. Or else...

Sam's gaze slid sideways to Margot, who was possibly acting a little too occupied to be entirely natural. Sneaky. Oh well, it's better to get that in the open, and I had no idea how to do it myself. So, instead of fussing and making it worse, she did what was familiar and chose to pretend nothing had happened. Her coat was finally discarded on the floor as the heat of the building managed to penetrate previously numb hands and feet, and was melting the residual snow clinging to the garment. Refusing to meet Gage's look, she settled back onto her barrel-seat, knees drawn up cross-legged.

"Tell me the story now?"

It was the first thing she grasped at, but once said, Saamina realized that she really did want to hear it. He started to tell her about it on the beach before the little scene she made had interrupted. Just a snippet that caught her interest, but it created a point of connection. Maybe it was the image of Gage as a child, listening to his father tell the tale, but it pleased her that he was willing to share. The majority of older kids she interacted with had been careers. Their habitual torment of Brooke when they learned he hated blood, had birthed a ferocious dislike in Sam for anything that even remotely smelled of their attitude. This boy was different, unique in her experience, and it drew her.

She nodded to him eagerly and waited, bad mood banished with the ease childhood lends, and leaned forward to listen. Her posture was amusingly reminiscent of a small bird perched on the barrel, head cocked to one side with avid curiosity.

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Listening with rapt attention, the small girl leaned ever closer until it looked like she might topple for the precarious position. Her gray eyes remained fixed on Gage with an intensity that is only seen in those who are earnestly interested in what is being discussed. As the story unfolded, she gave the occasional chuckle or nod of understanding, a thoroughly involved audience.

"Always tumbling, always changing…but always did the water sparkle in the sunlight, rock him to sleep with the symphonies of the waves on the shoreline. And, of course, all he wanted in his beautiful life was to seek out more."

This was something she and the boy held in common, this fascination with the sea as a wild creature - it's nearly painful beauty and animism enchanting them into seeking it out further like a siren song. She couldn't suppress a shiver of appreciation.

"...when the gentle kindness of a great whale made his acquaintance—and promised, without a moment’s hesitation, that he would help the boy find his home. It would take a while, of course. The whale had to push the raft very carefully, lest he should topple the boy into the sea…"

That brought a grin, because the notion of a whale taking interest in the doings of a fisher-boy struck her as immensely amusing, and the mental image of him try to nudge along the minuscule raft devolved her into a stifled burst of giggles. Her freckled nose wrinkled and eyes squeezed shut with humor, fingers splaying across her knees in an odd little display of uninhibited enjoyment.

When Gage arrived at the portion of the story that referred to this tool, she squinted in thought, twirling the loose end of her braid and staring at the tip of Gage's nose. Finally she blurted out, "Well if it looked safe, it must resemble the fish's natural escape…so he must have been very clever to weave it out of seaweed and make it look like the mouth of a cave or something. Then when they got inside" … Thwap! She swatted her hands together with a startling sound, "He closes off the mouth of the net and it's just stabbing fish in a barrel…right? Sounds awful tricky."

The challenge of it was attractive, and for a long few minutes she fell silent. Her eyes drifted over the view out the window without really absorbing any of it while she focused on visualizing this mythical net, her tongue poking between her lips in concentration. Giving up, she grumbled again, "Awfully clever, I wonder how he did it."

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Sam continued to nod her agreement, not seeming to notice when he abbreviated the thoughts, so intent was she on puzzle presented by the story. Her fingers rhythmically tapped the barrel top, thunking softly against the dry wood and then tracing a nail along the seams. She chewed at her lower lip, tugged her braid, and variously fidgeted and shifted, reflecting the fierce turmoil she was attempting to work through in her head. Where still waters run deep, Saamina was generally a babbling stream, all chatter and bounce…never holding still for long, even when in thought.

“So, I realized…the fish had to be trapped immediately. And killed. So, I thought…shark teeth. Or twined spokes in the reeds, to be more efficient…but then I thought, ‘Other fish would smell the blood, and—"

She nodded again, immediately understanding the problem as any child raised among fishermen. Sharks would show up and shred the net to bits trying to get at the fish, likely pull the boy into the water in the process. Nope, that wouldn't work, can't let blood hit the water…so it doesn't injure them, just trap. It seems clumsy, why do that when you could just net them like everyone else? What's to keep the fish from just swimming back out the way they went into the net?

She fussed over that quandary for a while as the shadows slowly began to stretch across the room. It was growing later in the evening, and the light was fading from it's pale bluish tinge to something holding a lemon hue. Splashes of orange and purple lit the horizon, casting little tongues of flame over the ruby waves. If the night of the reaping had closed in spectral mourning, the first day of the Games was setting in a bloody splendor.

Such acknowledgements were only fleeting, subconscious observations that glistened momentarily in Sam's mind, only to be stashed away for later as her focus returned to the present and less sanguine ruminations.

"…he’s been dead for years.”

The last bit of what Gage had been saying finally penetrated the mental bubble she had unwittingly erected, and her chin snapped up, wide gray eyes analyzing his expression cautiously. A statement like that from anyone else would have carried the heavy tone of grief, even her own wasn't fully healed. In contrast, Gage had spoken the words without qualm, seemingly at peace, and his eyes gazed back at her own with laughter still crinkling the corners. Still some shard of her personality wouldn't let that go by so lightly and unaddressed. Her hand snuck out quickly and curled overtop the work-rough knuckles of Gage's own. The slim fingers exerted a gentle but firm pressure that made it impossible to mistake the gesture for anything except what it was - an intentional, comforting gesture. She let her hand linger there rather than pulling it back again as was her first instinct.

"We'll figure it out."

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Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy...