'In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead; one of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days. Particularly to what I'm about to say. First; no fighting with the other tributes, you'll have plenty of time for that at the arena. There are four compulsory exercises; the rest will be individual training. My advice is don't ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes, ten percent from infection, and twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.' I gulp; the reality of it all was finally sinking in. It never sunk in when I volunteered, it didn't sink in when we got on the train and there was no way that it had sank in when we arrived in the penthouse. They all just seemed like a luxury holiday to the capitol but then, that moment when the trainer had given that speech, then that was when the reality came creeping up on me.
I look around at the other tributes. I can tell which ones were from Districts 1-4, they were the ones smirking at each other and not listening to the trainer giving survival tips. All apart from one. He is looking at me and not his fellow careers. When he sees me catch him gawping at me he turns back to the woman instructing us. The woman let us loose onto the deadly weapons and the careers darted straight for the knives, bows and other various murderous weapons to show off to the other tributes, to put fear into their hearts.
'We should go and tie some knots.' I say breaking away from all of the staring I was doing at the other tributes. Peeta nods and we walk together towards the knotting station where a trainer greets us.
I sit and pick up a rope, Peeta follows. When the person at the station finds out I know a thing or two about snares he teaches us how to make a simple snare that would close on another competitors leg and leave them dangling from a tree, an easy kill, he says to us both. The man then leaves us to practise and stands to the side. 'They're all idiots Katniss.' Peeta speaks after a few moments of knotting. I suppose he is trying to break the ice with me, get the conversation going, trying to keep us from thinking about all of the killing we would be doing in a few days time.
'In what way?' I reply, undoing the knot in my tattered rope. Though I know he is referring to all of the other tributes at the other violent stations instead of the survival ones.
'They're all going to intimidate us but in the end – if we are strong enough - we can beat them if we forget about the fear they are trying to thrust upon us.' Peeta glances into my eyes as if to give me a vote of confidence. His words motivate me; Peeta always has his way with words.
After an hour or so of knotting we decide to move onto another station, the camouflage one, Peeta seems to genuinely enjoying the particular station, swirling a combination of mud and clay and berry juices around on his pale skin, weaving disguises from vines and leaves. I watch him, mesmerized by his movements with his fingers. It feels like he is painting on a canvas. 'I do the cakes.' Peeta says to me.
'The cakes?' I ask. I've been preoccupied with the boy from district 2, I watched him as he threw a spear into a dummy's heart from 15 metres away. 'What cakes?' Peeta stops painting himself and looks up to me.
'At home, the ones in the bakery.' I nod as he shakes his head and laugh. I remember the cakes from the shop window. Most of the people in district 12 couldn't afford the delicious, well iced cakes because there was no money for delicacies. They made the cakes for birthdays and new years. Every time I would be on a walk with Prim through the town square she would drag me over to admire the beauty of them.
I stare at Peeta's arm. The alternating pattern of light and dark suggests sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. I wonder how he would know that type of pattern as he only had a small apple tree in his back garden. I know he would have never been through the fence and into the woods. Somehow the whole thing – his skill, those inaccessible cakes, the praise of the camouflage expert – annoys me.
'It's lovely.' I say in a patronising tone. 'If only you could frost someone to death.' Peeta stops again and I see he takes offence to my words.
'Don't be so superior Katniss. You can never tell what you'll find in an arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-' begins Peeta.
'Say we move on,' I break in.
Breakfast and dinner are served to us on our floor but at lunch all of the tributes were led to the dining room where various tables were laid out and we could serve ourselves from all of the various trays dotted around the room. I guessed that the career tributes would have sat on a table together and all of them do.
I sit with Peeta and we talk happily, like Haymitch had told us to, until we get interrupted by a career walking over to us. Peeta and I glare at the career until he speaks. 'Hi Katniss.' Just a warm welcome to me. He is the boy who had been staring at me earlier on in the day.
'How do you know my name?' I ask, still staring. Peeta stands and walks away; there goes my hope of an excuse. He does not reply. 'Why are you talking to me and not to your career friends?' I ask. Too many questions were escaping my mouth at once.
'I know everyone's name or nickname here. I just wanted to meet everyone.' He says, I can tell he is lying.
'What, so you can just get to know their strengths and weakness'? I'm pretty sure that's why you are here and talking to me. So if you don't mind I'd like to eat my food in peace.' When he stands I stop him. 'What's your name by the way?'
'Cato.'