Another mockingjay, a young one by the look of it, lands on a branch before me and bursts out Rue’s melody. My song, the hovercraft, were too unfamiliar for this novice to pick up, but it has mastered her handful of notes. The ones that mean she’s safe. “Good and safe,” I say as I pass under its branch. “We don’t have to worry about her now.” Good and safe.
