Bow grows up mixing batters and frosting cookies, painting wonderlands and portraits.

She has a way with words; she can write a song or a poem that brings tears to your eyes. She carries the calmness that follows Peeta, but she loves to play games, loves to laugh, loves to tire herself out.

Like me, though, she is susceptible to sadness easily. Haymitch died when she was twelve, and she spent the following weeks in bed with me, sleeping and crying. Her happiness is always great though, it always outweighs the bad moments.

Rye is a hunter, like me. From an early age, he clung to my legs on Sunday mornings, begging to be taken out to the woods. I feared that he would be too much like I was, that aggression would get the best of him, that he may be a fighter when he entered school.

The first time he killed a rabbit, I watched him hold the thing against his chest and almost started crying before he handed it to me. There is a compassionate part of my son that I don't think I ever possessed. He loves things entirely, with his whole heart. He falls in love frequently with the girls at his school, and he loves his sister constantly.

The children learn about the Games in school, and when they were old enough, Peeta and I showed them the book that we made. They don't understand everything, but they know all about war and sacrifice, and the aunt they never met. I wish that they didn't have to hear this history.

At night, the house is full of sounds. Soft breathing, heavy snores, the occasional dream murmur. Peeta and I rest with our eyes open, looking out toward the moon, to the top of the house that Peeta used to sleep in. We look back into our memories, these nights. It's been such a long time since everything. We have washed the blood off our hands and cleansed the war from our skin, but these scars will always be there.

Nighttime is anxious, and pregnant with mystery. We always wonder if bad dreams will come. I've got little to fear these days, except the nightmares. In a way, we climbed out of some kind of hell. In a way, we've been saved.

I turn into Peeta, and rest my head against his, hearing Rye's deep snores come from the other room.

Tonight our dreams are peaceful.