#haydovedit

A few of the geese hiss to announce my arrival. Lenore Dove’s was the first face they saw when they hatched, and they don’t love anyone but her. But since I’ve got corn, they’ll tolerate me today. I toss it a ways away to call off her bodyguards and lean in to kiss her. Then I kiss her again. And again. And she kisses me right back. “Happy birthday,” she says when we come up for air. “Didn’t expect to see you until after.” (...) The object that slips into my palm doesn’t register at once. It’s a thin strip of metal, shaped like a C. My fingers naturally grip the curved back as I examine the colorful animals facing off at the opening. The head of a snake hisses at the beak of a long-necked bird. I flatten out my hand and see that their enameled scales and feathers travel around the piece until they merge and become indistinguishable. Two small rings are welded on, one behind each head. For a chain, maybe? “It’s beautiful,” I say. “It’s to wear, right?” “Well, you know I like my pretty with a purpose,” Lenore Dove replies cryptically, making me work it out myself. I turn it over in my hand, then grip the C again, this time covering the animal heads with my fingers. Then I see its purpose. The smooth steel edge isn’t solely decorative. “It’s a flint striker,” I conclude. —Chapter one, Sunrise on the Reaping (2025)

“Can you imagine it rising on a world without a reaping?” “Not on my birthday. I’ve never had one that came without a reaping.” I try to distract her with a kiss, but she’s determined to make me see. “No, listen,” she says earnestly. “Think about it. You’re saying, ‘Today is my birthday, and there’s a reaping. Last year on my birthday, there was also a reaping. So every year, there will be a reaping on my birthday.’ But you have no way of knowing that. I mean, the reaping didn’t even exist until fifty years ago. Give me one good reason why it should keep happening just because it’s your birthday.” —Chapter one, Sunrise on the Reaping (2025)

"Dove color: Warm gray with a slight purplish or pinkish tint. Her color. Her bird. Her name." —Sunrise on the Reaping, Suzanne Collins.

“The moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to us.” —Sunrise on the Reaping, Suzanne Collins.