It seemed as though the Cornucopia had been a hundred years ago, but Tansy Capro knew that it was still only the afternoon of the first day. The sun was high and hot in the sky, and her hair and clothes were damp with the heavy moisture in the air. She moved as quickly and as silently as she could, carrying with her the three things she'd managed to recover from the stockpile. One was a large bright blue knapsack with a single strap. At first, Tansy had thought it was a regular pack, maybe with some rations inside. But it turned out to be a good-sized waterproof tent, that folded itself up to be carried easily. It was a lucky find. Even if it never rained, it would at least manage to keep the muggy air out at night. Hopefully. She'd also grabbed a pair of night-vision glasses and a small metal tube. It was about the length of her finger, and was attached to a tiny figaro chain that could be fastened to one of the zippers on her windbreaker. She had no idea what it was.

The trees around her were taller than any she'd ever seen, and their leaves were dark and flat. Their branches curved up towards the sky, and they looked impossible to climb. Still, if she could figure a way up there, the others would be hard-pressed to find her. That was her plan. To make her way upward. But first, she needed water. There was a pit in her stomach already - she'd gotten so used to the abundance of food in the Capitol - but she knew it would lessen if she had something to drink.

She kept walking westward.

By the time Tansy got to the lake, it was a welcome sight. There was an almost serene quality to the place, despite the strange and unexpected structure on the opposite shore. An enormous treehouse, built in to the massive branches of what looked to be a synthetic tree. And yet, the leaves rustled. The house itself was multiple levels, attached to one another by wooden staircases that wrapped around the trunk of the tree. It looked to Tansy like a wonderful place to make camp, but probably vulnerable to attack. She decided that once she'd had her drink, she'd make her way back to the trees. Soon, she'd have to figure out a weapon for herself.

It was so quiet. So removed from the horrors of that morning. She knelt, put her hands into the cool water, and splashed it onto her face. It was more refreshing than she could have imagined. Her cheeks were burning hot, and the clear fresh water soothed her skin and washed away the sweat that clung to her brow. Cupping her hands, she began to drink. Quickly and desperately. There was nothing she could do to purify the water. The lake was cooler than the air, but it was still warm enough to house lethal bacteria and parasites. But Tansy couldn't bring herself to worry about that.

The arrow moved silently through the air and landed between her ribs. She gasped breathlessly, like a fish on land, and tried to pull the arrow out of her side, but she was too weak. It was as if all of the air she breathed in just rushed back out again. The pain became excruciating. The blood that filled the collapsed chamber of her lung began to trickle of out the side of her mouth, coppery and warm.

Tansy saw her last glimpse of the world was as though she were looking through a piece of gossamer. The clear blue sky full of round summer clouds. The house across the lake. And a pair of blood red eyes.

The cannon sounded.

Bell Oliver pulled her arrow out of Tansy's side, and collected her kill's equipment. The tent would come in handy, since the roof of the treehouse wasn't in great shape, and the glasses would be excellent. She'd be able to take her position at sundown, and snipe anyone who came into her territory. She planned to sleep in two hour shifts throughout the day.

She smiled to herself a little as she ripped the metal tube from Tansy's jacket. Unlike it's previous owner, she knew exactly what it was. A fire starter.

It was made from a combination of metal alloys that included magnesium. If Bell were to scrape the outside of the tube with the edge of an arrowhead or a knife blade, it would create a hot white spark that looked like the flash of fireworks. If she could get her hands on some wood shavings, or a piece of birch bark, she'd be able to get a nice flame going in no time. The downside was that she was a little reluctant to dull one of her arrows. She'd managed to grab the best of two compound bows at the Cornucopia - hers was made of aluminium, the other had been yew - but she'd gotten the smaller quiver. Only six arrows. She had to be diligent, and use them carefully. The instant she ran out, she'd be a sitting duck.

The hovercraft came for Tansy's corpse as Bell made her way back across the suspension bridge that led to the treehouse. Even though she was curious to see how the bodies were removed from the arena, she didn't turn around. It wasn't safe to linger anywhere in the open too long. Bell's new rule was to spend no more than one minute in any given place that wasn't her camp. And even then, she knew she couldn't get too comfortable. No fires in the top rooms, especially at night, and not too much noise. From the highest window, she could see into the next area of the arena, with the craggy red mountain, and the towers of the castle ruin by the Cornucopia. Any fire she lit would instantly give away her location, just as surely as the brightest beacon. But with the stifling heat of the place, she'd only need a fire for boiling water and cooking any raw meat she might be able to get herself.

Bell wasn't too concerned with her stomach just yet. Along with her bow, she'd picked up one of the largest packs of food. A good dozen pieces of beef jerky, dried fruit, a mixture of different kinds of nuts, and oats. She'd almost laughed with delight when she found the oats. She couldn't even afford to eat them back in District Twelve, and the Gamemakers had just casually put them in the supplies. Like they were a cornerstone of basic survival.

The treehouse, though. That had been her favourite of all her gains so far. The stairs, made of oiled boards, creaked when she stepped. She ran swiftly to get from room to room, and favoured the very top. There was a double bed in there. An actual bed. She'd never dreamed anything in the Games would be so easy. It made her a little nervous. If she got too complacent, maybe a bolt of lightning would strike her tree to move her deeper into the action. But for the first few days, it would be perfect.

As long as the other tributes remembered to kill one another to keep the audience happy.

Lanterns hung from thick ropes tied to the higher branches of the tree, no doubt they'd once been used to light the path of the stairs at night. A few of them were little more than shards of broken glass. Two of the rooms on the way to the top of the house were empty shells, one of them scarred with what looked like burn marks from an explosion. But, considering how old the place must've been, Bell thought it was in miraculously good shape. There was a writing desk, bolted to a landing, and at the end of the next staircase a plaque with raised brass writing on it. She could only make out a few words. Robin, survivor, allow and wreckage. It didn't tell much of a story. Maybe it had once been a tribute to something that had happened in that tree, but it was lost to time now.

Once she was in the top room, Bell crouched on a balcony that wrapped around the north side of the room. The only direction she couldn't see was south, and there was a good-sized window behind her that remedied that. She scanned the ground for signs of the other tributes, but saw nothing. After a few minutes she headed back into the room itself, and opened up the tent bag. It was a round shape, but if the seems were pulled apart, it would yield three or four good sized pieces of cloth. To spare an arrow, Bell tried to rip the stitches by pulling on the cloth, but the thread was much to strong.

She'd probably need to reserve an arrow for the fire starter. Might as well use it for the tent, too. Luckily, though there were still too few of them for Bell's taste, the arrows were broadheads. The tip radiated out into four sharp blades, to ensure heavy bleeding in struck targets. They were preferable to target arrows, which had a narrow point and a needle-like shape that were inappropriate for killing large animals.

Archery was something she'd taken up as a hobby, but she'd never really hunted. It wasn't uncommon for the children of the three poachers from the Seam to learn how to handle a bow and arrow; in case something happened to the parent, or so that they could take over the dangers of sneaking past the fence. Bell's family were coal miners through and through, and so up until she was around eleven years old, the only weapon she knew how to use was a shovel. Maybe she was scared of the reaping, or maybe she just wanted to learn how to shoot. Bell couldn't really remember, but a few of her friends who had experience with archery started to teach her in the afternoons. And, not too long after that, she'd started practicing by herself in the mornings. She loved it. The control she had, the power she started to feel in her shoulders and back as her strength increased. Most of all, she loved the precision.

She had an almost supernatural ability to aim her shot. She suffered in speed, though, because it always seemed to take her a beat too long to nock an arrow and pull back the string. And power wasn't a realistic goal for a girl of her size. What she had perfected in its entirety was patience.

The treehouse gave her the vantage point. The trees gave her stealth. The mechanisms of the compound bow gave her twice her own strength.

She would watch.

And she would wait.

But first, she had to secure her camp. The sharp edge of the arrow tore through the seams of the tent like a hot knife through butter. In a couple of days, if the Gamemakers did manage to chase her away from her tree, she might regret destroying the tent. But something about the air told her that it was going to rain like crazy. Plan for the day ahead, not the day that might not come. She stretched one of the smaller pieces of the synthetic cloth over the stretch of ceiling above the south-facing window. If a sudden downpour started, that was somewhere she'd want to keep dry. Who knew how many hours she would spend at that window in the days to come? Watching for someone to make their way towards her, blundering for a drink of water like the girl from District Six had.

She tacked the cloth to the ceiling with one of the metal tent stakes, but it wasn't easy to do by herself. Having her arms above her head so long tired her, and it took quite a bit of strength to drive the stakes in. She had no hammer, and had to make do with a branch that had fallen into one of the lower rooms. It was much noisier than she would have liked. Eventually, she managed to finish the job. The largest piece of the tent stretched between the bedposts like a canopy, and she reserved the third piece for later use.

By the time she was finished, the muscles in her arms ached and she was out of breath. But she couldn't rest yet. She had to keep going if she wanted to survive.

The sunlight began to dim, but not from the fall of night. The clouds were growing denser and darker, casting shadows over the ground of the arena.

A storm was on its way.


A/N: Well, add the girl from D6 to your list of dead people...