Two days passed with no activity. Apart from receiving another parachute, this one containing a stew and bread, he spent the days huddled inside his sleeping mat, desperately trying to rid himself of the chill that had settled in his bones.
There was nothing more he could do. There was no wood around to make a fire. Just an endless expanse of sharp, stinging white for as far as the eye could see.
He clasped his hands together inside his pockets, trying to warm them up. His teeth chattered loudly. His insulated tribute outfit was doing little to help him.
In the books, Katniss mentions how there was one year where the tributes all froze to death because there wasnt any wood to make fires. From the way she mentions it, it seems like it was fairly recent, but to be honest I feel like this is a mistake that would have been realized much sooner, hence why I've included it here.
Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying the story so far!