Peeta makes a non-committal humming noise and takes another sip of wine. Treehouses. Not something he would ever have thought of himself, but he likes it. He stares out over the porch railing into the misty green of the surrounding foliage. From the corner of his eye he can still see Tim's reaction, and he wonders.
"Do you not like trees?" he asks, somewhat bluntly. He's heard of stranger things. He keeps his eyes on their surroundings, but keeps watching Tim from the corner of his eye. "To be fair, I probably wouldn't be as comfortable down on the ground. Too many memories of forests and jungles."
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"Do you not like trees?" he asks, somewhat bluntly. He's heard of stranger things. He keeps his eyes on their surroundings, but keeps watching Tim from the corner of his eye. "To be fair, I probably wouldn't be as comfortable down on the ground. Too many memories of forests and jungles."