He understands. There are so many times when Annie can't speak that he's learned to understand all the little ways she says what she needs to say without words, in the way her arms cling tighter to him, the way she lets him take the lead when they eventually break away from their embrace. Finnick wraps his arms once more, tight, around her, presses his forehead to hers, then moves past her to take up a position in the lead. She's still scared, disoriented; Finnick's had time enough here now to steady his perceptions, even though he still has no idea what's happened.
Why the change? As they move quietly in the direction of their house -- unspoken agreement between them being that's where they should go -- he's watching, all around, trying to tune into his surrounds and his own instincts to make sense of what's happening. He has none of the weapons he's always carried with him since they arrived in that first arena, so Finnick's more cautious than he otherwise might be, sticking to the trees and shrubs where they overgrow the path, edging along the road behind the line of trees along it.
There's no sign of anyone except the two of them. Many of the others had stayed in the park to watch out for new arrivals, and not everyone's here yet, he thinks. Their way towards the house they'd claimed is more tangled and rundown than he remembers it, and when the house comes into view, it looks almost exactly the same as it had when they'd first chosen it. As if none of the work they'd done on repairs and maintenance had actually happened. And Finnick would think that was the case, that this was some ... newly created duplicate of the original arena except for one very obvious thing: the brush and wattle fence they'd built is there and so, it becomes clear as they approach, is the flock of geese. They're greeted by an angry honking, hissing, and flapping, as the birds notice someone approaching.
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Why the change? As they move quietly in the direction of their house -- unspoken agreement between them being that's where they should go -- he's watching, all around, trying to tune into his surrounds and his own instincts to make sense of what's happening. He has none of the weapons he's always carried with him since they arrived in that first arena, so Finnick's more cautious than he otherwise might be, sticking to the trees and shrubs where they overgrow the path, edging along the road behind the line of trees along it.
There's no sign of anyone except the two of them. Many of the others had stayed in the park to watch out for new arrivals, and not everyone's here yet, he thinks. Their way towards the house they'd claimed is more tangled and rundown than he remembers it, and when the house comes into view, it looks almost exactly the same as it had when they'd first chosen it. As if none of the work they'd done on repairs and maintenance had actually happened. And Finnick would think that was the case, that this was some ... newly created duplicate of the original arena except for one very obvious thing: the brush and wattle fence they'd built is there and so, it becomes clear as they approach, is the flock of geese. They're greeted by an angry honking, hissing, and flapping, as the birds notice someone approaching.