When Cirrin had first seen the forest, his initial impression had been that it was dominated by the dense, gargantuan trees that reached their great green limbs into the thick canopy high above. Five days living in the forest had corrected his view; it was dominated not by the mighty trees, but by the legions of insects to which every inch of the forest seemingly belonged. They moved in their erratic, mindless patterns, utterly ignorant of any reason they should not go or do as they pleased. They walked up and down tree trunks, settled in branches, but most of all, they wandered the spongy forest floor. Cirrin had grown used to feeling their tiny legs dance across his skin, crawling underneath his jacket sleeves and pant legs. They grew especially numerous when he slept on the forest floor; it had become almost a morning ritual to stand up and shake off the little creatures that roamed his body. So when he awoke on the sixth day of the Games to feel a multitude of insects creeping across his flesh, nothing immediately struck him as wrong.
Then he awoke fully, and the loudest buzz he'd ever heard filled his ears.
When he realized what was happening, sheer disbelief was the only thing that stopped him from panicking. He sat up slowly, eyes wide, senses alert, all confirming what he had concluded.
His torso and parts of his arms and legs were coating in a thick, shifting layer of bees. More bees filled the space around him, their wings saturating the air with a low buzz. Some of them began to crawl up his neck, causing him to instinctively lift his chin to keep them away from his face. His pulse quickened with fear. He willed himself to calm down; unconsciously, he clenched his jaw tight. He carefully and slowly rose to his feet.
His mind was racing. Where had they come from? Cirrin knew his campsite hadn't had a beehive near it. He'd combed the area for hazards before going to sleep. The only explanation he could think of was interference by the Gamemakers. They often used the Capitol's technology to spice things up for the viewers. The current Head Gamemaker, who had been appointed just after the previous year's Games, was known for advocating a conservative approach to interference. But that didn't mean he wouldn't imperil a tribute if the Capitol's citizens got bored.
Cirrin pushed aside his search for an explanation. It didn't matter. The situation demanded his full attention. He knew from experience that bees could be safely driven off by the smoke created by burning a termite nest. But did termites live in the forest? It would make sense, given the abundance of trees, but he couldn't be sure. Still, it was his only hope. Doing his best to avoid sudden movements, he slowly walked among the trees. He left his backpack behind; picking it up might have aggravated the bees that he was sure filled its interior.
Cirrin remembered from previous Games that when the Gamemakers deliberately put a tribute in danger, they often provided a way out, to keep things exciting. He reasoned that if there was a termite nest he could use, it would be near his campsite. However, an hour of slowly, deliberately circling the campsite found him nothing. He felt himself sweating under his clothes and the layers of insect bodies coating him. Doubt began to tug at his resolve. But since he had no alternatives, he continued his search. He was keenly aware that the smallest jerking movement could be enough to send the swarm into a frenzied attack.
Finally, he saw it: a dark brown, rounded glob clinging to a thin tree trunk four feet above the ground. He approached it carefully, paying attention to each footstep. When he reached the nest, he checked his hands for any bees that might get crushed and sting him. Then he grabbed two handfuls of the termite nest. His right hand accidentally squeezed too hard, causing the piece of nest in it to crumble to bits; he dropped it and tried again, taking more care not to crush the piece. He spent the next fifteen minutes making his way back to his campsite.
The bees hung there like a living cloud, filling the space with a dense buzz. Cirrin took a few careful steps through the swarm, eyes closed. He set down the pieces of termite nest in a sunbeam that pierced through the canopy to the forest floor. He then made his way over to his backpack and crouched down. With trembling hands, he unclipped the top flap and peered inside; sure enough, it was filled with bees. He reached inside with great care, gripped part of his magnifying glass that wasn't covered in bees, and lifted it out of the pack. Most of the bees on it were scared off by the movement, leaving him free to hold it by the handle.
When he had returned to the termite nest, he held the magnifying glass up to the sun and focused a narrow beam of light onto the pieces of termite nest. He wished he could gather some twigs and leaves to help get the fire going, but that simply wasn't an option. Thankfully, the ground was littered with leaves, some of which were still dry. In a few minutes, he'd created a little fire that had spread to both handfuls of nest. They sent skyward a light brown smoke. Cirrin stood almost directly in it, trying desperately to suppress his urge to cough. In seconds, the bees began to flee his body, taking flight into the clear air beyond him.
Relieved, Cirrin stepped out of the smoke and allowed himself to cough. Then he retrieved his backpack and began to hold it over the smoke. Without thinking, he turned the bag over above the flames. Instantly, two things happened: first, his few possessions fell onto the tiny fire, quenching it easily; second, the bees on those objects rose, a vengeful buzz pouring from their little bodies, and started to sting Cirrin's legs. He jumped back and yelped in pain, prompting more frightened bees to attack him. In moments, he was the object of the swarm's collective wrath, futilely swinging his arms at the shifting cloud of insects.
With constant pain erupting across his skin, all thoughts were gone except the urge to escape. He tore through the trees, swatting desperately at the bees that followed him, continually assaulting him with their venom-filled stingers. Cirrin barely knew where he was going. He couldn't keep cries of pain and fear from rising out of his throat. After what seemed like days of agony, he realized he could hear the rush of the stream; without hesitation, he ran toward it. His feet didn't stop moving until he'd plunged headlong into the water, scraping his chest against rocks that littered the bottom. He held his breath as long as he could; the bees clinging to him quickly drowned and were carried away by the current. When he could no longer hold his breath, he surfaced, taking in huge gulps of air. The rest of the bees were nowhere to be found.
He dragged himself out of the water and flopped down on the bank, breathing heavily. Raised bumps across his skin peppered his brain with itching pain. He quickly lost track of time. His day had not started well. Eventually, with a sigh, he got to his feet. His hair and skin had dried for the most part. Shoulders slumped, past the point of caring about danger or other tributes, he made his way back to his campsite.