If all she had was good intentions, there is a fair enough chance Katniss would not have refused as long as she has, as she continues to do by not attacking, but it's not just that. Hardly, in a sense. What familiar with hunger and stubbornness itself does not account for, revulsion manages to seal. Ever aware of the pulse in the man before her, she still needs only to think of how blood reminds her of President Snow, how the scent was on his breath, how everything she loves or has ever cared about could be blown away by a nod from him...it's all she needs to think of to scramble backward to keep from going forward, preempting herself as she listens to him.
Worse? The flinch is more a reflex than anything else but when she clenches her jaw, teeth gritted and a hallowed look from thinned out form, she couples it with a short nod, jumpy as if she doesn't quite have control over her movement. The nod is not a yes to the blood so much as acknowledgment of what he has said.
"But," she licks cracked lips, swallows sharply. "...blood," she thinks she might vomit on the spot even as she knows it's what the burning of her insides seems to demand. "...it's the only thing?" Her next breath shakes through the whole of her, as if it took all her effort to get that much out, and in a way it did; she's so tired. Beyond Frankie's shoulder, she can see Peeta with moonlight glancing off of pale blond hair, but then she starts, jerkily and sudden as another form seems to be there. Not near Peeta, never near Peeta, but right beside the other man. Impulse strikes her down on the spot because for all that logic says they aren't there, it certainly looks like Cato is there. Cato who could break her, who could kill Peeta; Cato who she killed but the dead can walk here. Lunging at the phantom boy only serves to make it look as though she is going for Frankie, however, and as she has been able to keep the hunger stopped up, the burst of aggression is, maybe, not entirely unexpected.
and set to try to take away the shadows from your eyes
Worse? The flinch is more a reflex than anything else but when she clenches her jaw, teeth gritted and a hallowed look from thinned out form, she couples it with a short nod, jumpy as if she doesn't quite have control over her movement. The nod is not a yes to the blood so much as acknowledgment of what he has said.
"But," she licks cracked lips, swallows sharply. "...blood," she thinks she might vomit on the spot even as she knows it's what the burning of her insides seems to demand. "...it's the only thing?" Her next breath shakes through the whole of her, as if it took all her effort to get that much out, and in a way it did; she's so tired. Beyond Frankie's shoulder, she can see Peeta with moonlight glancing off of pale blond hair, but then she starts, jerkily and sudden as another form seems to be there. Not near Peeta, never near Peeta, but right beside the other man. Impulse strikes her down on the spot because for all that logic says they aren't there, it certainly looks like Cato is there. Cato who could break her, who could kill Peeta; Cato who she killed but the dead can walk here. Lunging at the phantom boy only serves to make it look as though she is going for Frankie, however, and as she has been able to keep the hunger stopped up, the burst of aggression is, maybe, not entirely unexpected.