When I wake, I forget where I am and almost fall out of the tree. I cling to the branch, heart racing, for a few moments before I move.

I climb stiffly down the tree, rubbing my eyes when I get to the bottom. Last night wasn't restful, and that put me at a disadvantage to the other Tributes. Though maybe not to some. I'm not sure if the cannon I heard in the night was real, or just the product of my dreams. I have a sinking feeling that it was real, the sound of a successful night of hunting from other Tributes.

So, eleven dead – maybe twelve. Half of the Tributes gone in less than twenty-four hours of the Games. At least the Gamemakers can't be accused of not having enough bloodshed.

I check that my iodine bottle is still in my pocket, and then head back to the river in the dawn light. The forest feels alive; the birds sing and fly from tree to tree overhead, and small animals dart for cover when I pass. I try to walk silently, with little success.

I reach the riverbank and peer around. I am more cautious now, slinking down to the river's edge in the middle of a clump of reeds, always alert. I fill up the container again, add iodine, and then settle down to wait. I crouch uncomfortably in the middle of the reeds, this time not berry-picking.

When the sun has fully risen, I drink the water and refill the container. I screw the cap on it and give the closed container a shake. Thankfully, the water doesn't leak out, so I put it in my pocket and slip back into the forest.

My stomach feels hollow and empty, but I ignore it. Breakfast could come later; now it is time to get back to the Cornucopia.

I stop for a rest when the sun is overhead. I sit down and lean against the base of a nearby tree, listening to the forest again. The day is warm, which is a relief after the chill of last night.

I'm not quite sure where I am in relation to the Cornucopia. I was trying to retrace the path I took yesterday, but to me one part of the forest looked the same as any other part. Don't panic, I tell myself for the umpteenth time, trying to forget that I only have half a container of water left. All I can do at the moment is keep going.

I pull myself to my feet again, and continue, my legs protesting. As the afternoon passes I grow more wary, moving from tree to tree, trying to conceal myself in the undergrowth as much as I could. There are eleven people waiting to kill me that could be in these woods. No sense taking chances.

As the light begins to fade, I realise that I will not reach the Cornucopia today. The Careers will probably start to hunt soon – night was traditionally their favourite time, or at least it had been in previous Games. I chew my lip in frustration. There is so much that I don't know! I feel vulnerable, alone in the woods with no knowledge of what any of the other Tributes are doing.

I push away the thoughts and begin to search for food in the undergrowth. I stumble across some berry bushes and after checking that the berries are edible, pick some and stuff them in my pockets. I remember my training – apparently bark can be eaten. I almost break my fingernails, but I gouge off a few pieces from a nearby tree. Combined with the sweet berries, it doesn't taste too bad – or perhaps it's because I'm too hungry to care. I leave one piece of bark, and begin a tally.

I scratch the numbers one to twelve on the bark using my fingernails, then begin to cross them off. One from 3, one from 4, one from 5, both from 6, 7, and 9, one from 8 and one from 10. It feels good, somehow, to have this record – it feels like I might be able to control some small part of these Games.

As night begins to fall, I slip the bark into my jacket pocket and gather a few fallen tree branches. I crawl underneath a tangle of bushes and arrange the branches over me. I'm prepared to risk sleeping on the ground in exchange for a more restful night and the extra warmth that the branches will hopefully afford.

I peer through a gap in the branches as the Capitol seal is broadcast into the sky. This night, there is only one picture – the girl from District 8. The cannon I heard in the night.

I pull out my bark record and put another stroke across the crude number 8.

Twelve down.

I pull my hood over my head and try to sleep.