~Chapter Sixteen: Vigilance~

"Until you step into the unknown, you don't know what you're made of." ―Roy T. Bennett

A single cannon went off overnight, jolting me from my restless sleep. The nearby wildlife panicked, as before, and it took a few minutes for things to settle back down.

It took my brain a lot longer than that. I never saw a hovercraft, so I knew it wasn't close, but my thoughts kept circling back, wondering at the cause of death.

It was morbid to think about, but partially born by the survivalist part of my brain wanting to know what unseen dangers lurked in this Arena. It was still early, but the Gamemakers would probably get more and more creative as the days passed.

Needless to say, it was a long time before I fell asleep again.

Twelve dead.

Halfway to the second Arena.

…

Another cannon went off at the crack of dawn, just as I was beginning to stir due to the increase in sounds of wildlife in the forest around me. Once again, I felt a jolt of fear and adrenaline. It truly was the most horrible way to wake up…well, I supposed it was better than waking up to someone standing over me.

Holding my breath, I watched the sky intently, as much as I could through the thick branches of the tree canopy above me.

After a moment, I realized I'd been fortunate again. The death hadn't occurred near me. I supposed that if the hovercraft were coming, the wildlife would at least scatter or hide, right? Though, Capitol technology could be quiet and stealthy and appear overhead at just a few seconds' notice. Either way, I didn't want to be caught off guard.

Thirteen dead. Eleven to go in the first Arena. What an awful way to think. I felt a bit of self-directed resentment for counting the deaths so callously. That was another tribute that wouldn't be returning home.

What if it were Ben? Or Autumn?

I sighed, standing up and trying to stretch my stiff muscles. My whole body ached, and my mouth was dry again. I knew that with the temperatures and the amount of sweating I'd be doing again, I still had to prioritize water. The Arena had remained temperate overnight, and the insulation I'd created with leaves had ensured I didn't get too cold, but it had still been fairly poor, uncomfortable sleep filled with nightmares and nerves.

I fished around in my pockets, pulling out the last of the red berries, and quickly scarfing them down. They barely took the edge off my hunger. I still had some of the berry leaves, and I knew I could chew on them for some additional nutrients if I needed to, but I needed more than that. So far, the only edible plants I'd seen and actually recognized were the berry bushes. If I could just find some wire to make snares…

I grabbed my walking branch and set off, after trying my best to erase any sign that I'd slept against the tree, scattering the leaves everywhere.

I still needed to find a high, climbable tree to see how far this forest stretched in every direction. Yet another thing to add to my list of priorities.

As I walked, I kept a keen eye out for the bushes with the water-bearing green bulbs. To my satisfaction, within the first couple hours of resuming my trek through the forest, I had found two more of them. I'd taken the time to stop at each, and repeated the process from yesterday to get at the liquid inside. It was time-consuming, but worth the effort.

By the time I cleared out the second bush, most of the lingering dryness and discomfort had ceased. Now I was focused on food more than anything. My stomach was rumbling, and any time I saw a small creature dart under a rock or scurry away in the underbrush, it made it even worse.

I hadn't found any berry bushes yet today, or any other sort of recognizable edible plant. I knew I was only supposed to eat things I was sure were edible, so I wasn't going to risk it if I didn't recognize the plant. Unfortunately, this meant I was going hungry. For now.

Insects still buzzed by, flitting about my ears, or hovering in the air lazily in some sort of heat-induced dance.

Last resort, I thought, even as my stomach protested.

It was still morning, but the heat was already beginning to crank up as the sun rose in the sky, slowly but surely. I'd be drowning in even more sweat soon enough.

I was mentally cursing the fact that the Gamemakers had put so many small creatures in this forest but given me no equipment to trap them when I heard it.

A scream. Terrified, loud, and female. It sounded like it was coming from far ahead of me, to the left. A good distance away, but still incredibly audible, carrying across the mostly windless air. There was a lot of force behind that scream, for me to hear it this far away.

I froze in place as my heart skipped a beat and the sound screeched against my ears.

What if it's Autumn?

I'd never heard her scream, but the voice sounded roughly her age. Still, there were plenty of other young female tributes still alive, so odds were, it wasn't her.

I hesitated, just briefly. The part of me that was worried it was Autumn had this crazy, absolutely idiotic desire to go help…

But it probably wasn't her. And even if it were, she was obviously in serious danger, and I'd be running into the unknown to help. The rational part of me knew that would be the absolute dumbest thing I could do. What the hell would I do anyway? I was unarmed, without a tool or weapon.

I couldn't let empathy cause me to make stupid decisions. There was something to be said for making yourself aware of the challenges and dangers of the Arena, but charging into it was an entirely different matter.

The smartest thing to do was to adjust my trajectory so I wouldn't be heading towards the sound, and make my way in that direction as quickly as possible. I didn't want to come back the way I came, but I didn't want to run into whatever was making the tribute scream. I shifted my course with this in mind, but I'd only taken a few steps when I another one.

Another scream.

This one was louder.

And slightly closer.

Shit.

Now the initial hesitation I'd been feeling, torn between helping and avoiding, was quickly replaced by the instinct to move the hell away, because clearly, the source of the scream was coming in this direction, at least for now.

I was decently quick, and nimble, but this forest didn't make it easy to run, especially with the minefield of frequent thorny plants. Plus, with limited vision, it would be easy to run smack into something dangerous, which is why I'd been so cautious as I'd progressed.

I glanced around, skimming my options in the area. A short distance away—and in the opposite direction as the screaming tribute—there was a decently sized tree that looked climbable. I could probably get high enough to stay out of sight, or at least out of danger.

Unlike yesterday, when Tatiana had walked dangerously close by, this possible threat still sounded far enough for me to be able to climb in time to avoid being seen, without drawing attention to myself.

It was a quick decision, borne by familiarity and instinct. Being up high seemed safest, especially without knowing what was attacking or chasing this girl. Tatiana yesterday had been alone, and hiding on the ground had been a viable option; today, with limited intel on the situation, I wanted to get out of the way.

What if a Capitol muttation with amazing sight and smell was chasing her? There were always mutts, every year. I didn't want to be anywhere on the ground if that were the case.

I dashed towards the tree in question, beginning to scale it, carried by nerves and adrenaline. I'd done this so many times that it was as easy as breathing, and the muscle movements were intimately familiar. I was in my element.

I pulled myself up, letting the paranoia about whatever was at my back motivate my movements to be even faster. Another scream reverberated through the still air, the closest one yet, making me wince. Not just at the fear this poor tribute must be feeling…but at the fact that anybody in a fairly large vicinity would hear. The cries were stark against the forest, which had quieted slightly in the background of the girl's terror. I wasn't sure she would pass directly by me, but she'd certainly come close by the sound of it, if she kept her current trajectory. Each scream had been closer than the last.

Hell, maybe the Gamemakers were somehow guiding her, trying to lead her right to me. Actually, now that I thought about it…that seemed possible. Every year, they tried to orchestrate events to drive tributes together.

I grabbed a branch, heaving myself up, then found another, then another, repeating the process and using whatever natural handholds and footholds I could find until I was a good distance off the ground. The ascent came easily to me, and I was light enough for all of the branches so far to comfortably support my weight.

When I was about forty feet up I stopped, peering through the breaks in the branches below me. Despite the broad tree leaves, up here I had a decent view of the area immediately below and around the tree, especially in one of the larger gaps between the branches. Cautiously, I adjusted position, scooting back against the part of the tree where the branch met the trunk. It was plenty sturdy, but I could climb higher if needed. If I thought I was going to be spotted, I'd have to move.

I glanced around, thinking I was fairly obscured up here, unless someone was specifically looking up in this particular tree. I doubted the shrieking tribute would bother. She clearly had other things on her mind.

As if on cue, a loud yelp – very close now. I heard staggering footsteps in the distance, too, growing louder.

I adjusted position, crawling out along the branch a bit, as far as I could, peering down to see if I could get a glimpse at this angle of whoever it was.

As the sounds of her lumbering progress through the forest increased in volume, I could hear other sounds, too; whimpering. Amidst the occasional bloodcurdling screech, the tribute was whimpering in pain and fear. My stomach flipped but I forced back the empathetic response, because right now, I couldn't think about it.

Focus. What's chasing her? What's causing this?

The sounds of the tribute approaching got louder and louder, until I realized she was zigzagging, not even stumbling around in a straight line.

And then, squinting, I finally saw her. She was surrounded by overgrowth on all sides, but from this high vantage point, I could make her out. She wasn't moving as quickly as I'd think, due to her zigzagging trajectory. Said trajectory brought her in and out of the edge of my sight.

It wasn't Autumn. I couldn't name her, only getting a vague sense of familiarity, but she looked to be a couple years younger than me, and I thought her district colors were from…9? 10? I wasn't sure.

The thing was, nothing—and nobody—was chasing her. At least, not as far as I could see.

As she staggered around, moving almost drunkenly, I felt my confusion increase. She was swiping and striking at the air empty-handed, this way and that, as if she were fighting an invisible enemy. But she was only using her right hand and arm to attack; her left hung limply at her side.

I realized two things at once.

One, the girl was clearly hallucinating. That was the only explanation for her behavior. She looked like she was trying to fight something off, but nobody was there.

Second, she clearly couldn't use her left arm.

Or, more accurately, part of it. It looked like her left shoulder was moving fine, but her left hand was completely motionless, fingers and wrist entirely immobile.

She girl screamed again for help, the sounds of terror scraping against her throat, abruptly turning and taking another pathetic swing at nothing. That confirmed my suspicions.

But what had caused this? My first guess was that she'd eaten something poisonous, or touched a deadly plant or Gamemaker creation. Some of the plants we'd studied at the survival station could cause severe, debilitating hallucinations, along with serious pain that would make you wish you were dead.

Or maybe something bit her and injected her with venom? That would explain the partially immobile arm. I watched as she spun again and staggered, tripping over a root and crashing into a tree a short distance from mine, yelping as she hit it.

She rested against it for a moment, panting, sobs of terror beginning to wrack her frame.

From this angle, it was hard to make out precise detail, but I thought I could see streaks of red across the limited amount of skin that was exposed, and bloody tears in her clothing. Thorns, I guessed. She's sprinting through the forest, heedless of her own safety, and the thorns are gashing her up.

Again, I felt the jolt of empathy, and it was hard to resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut. I didn't want to see this.

I wondered if whatever had poisoned her had blinded her, as well. With the hallucinations, she might as well have been blind, because she was clearly unseeing of whatever was in front of her. How horrifying must her visions be? To make her scream out, with complete disregard for who might overhear?

Or maybe it was just pain.

Either way, it was a pitiful sight to witness, especially knowing I couldn't help; I had nothing. No antidote. No food or supplies. But it wasn't just empathy tugging at me; it was fear for my own safety. She was making enough noise—even as I had the thought, she let out another horrific screech, throwing the word "help" into the sky as she struck at the air in front of her—to draw every other nearby tribute to our area.

But she was moving away from me, continuing her hapless journey through the trees, so I supposed I could just sit here. I could endure her sounds of pain just for a couple moments until she was gone. Then, I could climb down and try to move on, definitively not going in the direction she came from.

I clung to the branch, completely tense, trying my best to drown out the panicked and pained noises of the tribute as she began stumbling off. I flinched as she yelped again, likely stumbling into more thorns. I felt like such a coward, but I had to remind myself there was truly nothing I could do.

I found myself selfishly grateful once she was out of my field of vision, hoping she would distance herself as much as possible, so that I could get the hell out of here. I strained, listening intently to the noises of her progress, to ensure she was still moving away from the tree I was hiding in. A minute passed, then another, with me hoping nobody would be drawn right to me because of the terrified girl. I hated myself a bit for the callousness, but I didn't want to be caught in a bad position because of this.

Her stumbling was definitely getting further away, but she was still close enough that I stuck to the branch, unmoving. Anything—or anyone—coming after her now would still be far far too close for me to be able to leave this tree.

Maybe we're lucky enough that no murderous tributes are nearby, I thought. Maybe it's just me and her in this part of the forest.

But unfortunately, in the Hunger Games, there is no such thing as luck.

Abruptly, she screamed again—the loudest and most terrified of all, and still only a short distance away—but it was abruptly cut off midway through.

My stomach dropped, right as a cannon sounded.

Either she fell in a sinkhole, was attacked by a random Capitol-engineered muttation, or was killed by a tribute that had been lured by the noise. I didn't think it was a leap in logic to assume the latter.

Fourteen dead.

Shit, I thought, not for the first time today. Now I couldn't move. What if the killer headed this way? My pulse was pounding in my ears as I quickly tried to analyze the situation.

In the back of my head, I knew it was the first time I'd actually heard someone die in the Arena. I knew that her scream would stick with me. But I couldn't think about that now. I was in a bad position.

I couldn't go anywhere; I hated the thought of getting out of the tree now and possibly having an enemy so close behind me. I wanted to wait long enough for her killer to be nowhere close by, or at least to know which direction they went.

I slowly adjusted myself on the branch, as noiselessly as I could, leaning back against the tree trunk to brace myself again. I wanted to be able to climb again at a moment's notice.

I was tense. I was always tense in this damn Arena. The sudden, random rushes of adrenaline and nerves were exhausting. The uncomfortable hunger and poor night of sleep didn't help.

For a brief moment, the forest seemed to quiet. The birdsong ceased. I couldn't hear the hovercraft, nor could I see it from this angle, through the thick branches and leaves, but I highly suspected that was the cause. The Capitol vehicle was probably swooping in noiselessly, picking up her battered body in its metal teeth, to clean her up and send her home.

I swallowed down the nausea at the mental image of her terrified eyes, her wild swipes at an enemy that didn't exist, her skin torn up by the thorns.

But the mental image was quickly wiped away when a second later, I heard voices, audible even as the regular sounds of the forest began to pick up again.

Two of them, both male, coming from where the tribute had been killed. Their words were indistinguishable from here. But they were headed in my general direction.

I glanced up—there was a higher branch I could get to, and I could make it there before the approaching tributes got close, since they'd be coming from the opposite side of the tree.

I quickly scrambled up as noiselessly as I could, grasping and clawing at footholds, until I settled again on a branch at least ten feet higher up. I positioned myself carefully, wanting to try to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, especially given my brown clothing. The leaves of the tree would provide some cover, as well. A tribute would have to look up at this tree from certain angles to see me. It definitely wouldn't be easy, but it was still possible.

I was sure there was at least one camera on me. There always were cameras, when tributes crossed paths. Knowing this, I tried my hardest to keep a composed expression, but it was difficult, with the fear and anxiety biting at my insides. If they saw me, and they had ranged weapons, I might be in trouble.

The male voices were growing louder. I began to strain my ears again, trying my best to make out their words. They weren't in eyesight yet, and they weren't yelling, but they weren't exactly talking in whispered voices.

I immediately knew it wasn't Ben or Cato, or even Caspian, or any of the Careers. One voice sounded too old, rough and gravelly, while the other was younger and bit less assured than a Career would be.

I was wracking my brains, trying to remember which other tribute pairings were male, or even which boys from the same district were still alive, when I began to register what they were saying.

"-strange. It was like she wasn't even seein' me, not 'til the end." The older, deeper voice was saying. My stomach sank as I realized they were talking about the hallucinating girl. "Something had messed 'er up good."

"What do you think attacked her?" The younger voice asked.

The older voice grunted, unsure. "Dunno. Keep an eye out."

There was a brief pause, and all I could hear were the footsteps, getting louder. I figured they'd come into my field of vision any moment. My heartrate picked up, and I tried not to move a muscle, mentally hoping against hope they wouldn't see me. My body was fraught with tension.

Fortunately, it sounded like they'd pass by a short distance away, to my left, and not directly under my tree.

Then the younger voice said, "I just…I just felt bad seeing…"

"Don't." The other voice interrupted, harshly. "You can't think like that, son. Only two are gettin' out of here."

"I know, it's just-" the younger boy started to protest, but was cut off again.

"You'll get yourself killed, thinkin' that way, and you know it. She was dyin', one way or another. I made it as painless as I could. 'Smore than some of the others woulda done."

They fell silent again, and I felt an odd pang, hearing this conversation. The younger tribute was clearly bothered by the death, while the older one sounded resigned. Not as if he'd enjoyed it, but because he didn't feel like he had a choice.

The tragedy of these Games. I couldn't have killed her myself, I knew that, but the survivalist part of me knew the older tribute was right. She was likely a goner no matter what, and an especially cruel tribute could have dragged her death out a lot more. The cannon had been nearly instant after her scream.

But knowing that the man didn't enjoy killing her didn't ease my nerves, or my tension. My heart was still fluttering in my chest, my muscles stiff from my lack of movement.

Soon after, the pair—now silent save for the sounds of them traipsing through the forest—came into view, at the fringes of what I could see, my vision of them coming and going between the branches of the tree I hid in. I held my breath almost instinctively, scanning them, not moving a muscle.

I immediately recognized them, somewhat from their district colors, but more because of the familiarity of the older tribute: the man from District 6 who was missing an arm. He clutched a knife in his hand, occasionally using it to whack at the undergrowth. It was no doubt what he'd used to kill the hallucinating girl.

How the hell was he lucky enough to get a weapon while I'm bare-handed? I thought irritably.

The boy with him was from his district. I realized with a jolt that they were the only two tributes left from 6; the girls had both died the previous day.

I squinted, because there was something odd about the younger boy. It took me a moment to place it, then I felt confusion wash over me.

Like the girl from earlier, his arm—though it was his right arm instead of his left—hung oddly at his side. He kept wincing as he walked, occasionally gripping it, as if trying to force it to move.

How did that happen to him, too? I thought.

As I watched, he was able to move his shoulder, but it appeared that his right hand was immobilized; perhaps part of his lower arm, as well. I couldn't tell from this angle. From what I could see, he couldn't move that hand at all. Just like the hallucinating girl and her left hand, I observed in befuddlement.

It was pretty much the exact same affliction as the girl from earlier had, minus the hallucinations. I had assumed she was bitten, or ate something bad; could he have done the same? Perhaps it affected him differently and he didn't get the hallucination part?

Still, what horrible luck. Not being able to use one of his hands in the Arena? That would significantly impair his ability to-

Wait.

Oh no.

I supposed it could be coincidence; but, as I pictured the identical way neither of these tributes could use one of their arms….

If I could just remember who either of their partners were…but there were so many to keep up with…

Was that the penalty suffered by the tribute if their partner died? Immediately, they lost the use of one of their arms?

I glanced down at my arms in horror, eyes immediately honing in on the small lumps there. All of the pieces were coming together in my mind. The way the Capitol white-coated man had said "this" would allow the Capitol to track me in the Arena, before injecting me. It was a tracker. Singular. Not trackers. I had assumed there was one in each arm, but as I stared at the seemingly innocuous lumps, I knew that wasn't true. Only one contained a tracker. The other contained something that would disable my hand.

That had to be it, right?. If your partner died, you immediately lost the use of one of your hands…perhaps even part of your arm. Maybe a specific nerve was affected. Or maybe the Capitol just injected something to make the whole area numb, to give the feeling of being unable to move it, like those rare mornings I woke up in pain after sleeping on my arm wrong. I wasn't sure how it worked, but I knew the technology was far ahead of what a girl from District 7 could understand.

But which arm contained the device that would disable use of the corresponding hand? Before injecting me, the man in the hovercraft had specifically noted that I was left-handed. And that injection had hurt more than the one in my right hand. The lump was slightly bigger, too. Was I supposed to assume it was the dominant hand that was disabled, then?

Obviously, that was even worse than the alternative, but I decided it was terrible either way. Either way, it would likely get me killed. So many survival skills were dependent on the use of two hands. I'd practically be doomed, even if my non-dominant hand were disabled.

It was clear they hadn't been kidding when announcing they'd cause a significant impairment if your partner died in the Arena. The girl from earlier, and the young boy from 6, must have already lost their partners.

A surge of anger washed over me as my eyes re-focused on the pair from 6; they were getting further and further away, still progressing in silence, leaving my line of sight shortly thereafter. They appeared to be heading due east, and now that I confirmed they hadn't noticed me, my fury with the Gamemakers was outweighing my fear.

Go to hell, all of you, I thought, picturing the Gamemakers and their conniving, greedy eyes. They basically wanted to guarantee your death, if your partner died. It was hard to keep a neutral expression as the anger washed over me; but I needed to get a handle on my emotions. For the sake of the cameras. I had to at least appear like I was put-together for the Sponsors. I could look human, but not weak, or frightened by what the Gamemakers might do to me.

Still, I couldn't get over the unfairness of it all. What a horrible penalty. How could you survive with only one hand? How could you fight, especially if it was your dominant hand that was disabled? Not that I was positive that was the case, but I was assuming the worst. Even the Careers would be affected heavily by something like that.

Regardless, everything would be infinitely harder. Catching food, survival skills, weapons...

They definitely wanted one partner to suffer when the other died. The message to the watching districts couldn't be clearer: You are penalized by your ally's mistakes and weaknesses.

I sat there, fuming at this turn of events but trying to conceal it, and refusing to move out of fear of the tributes from 6 returning. I sat there, even minutes after the sounds of the departing tributes faded into the distance.

I wanted to be absolutely sure they were gone. And weren't coming back. So, I would wait even longer.

Another five minutes passed. Then ten. Still nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no evidence to suggest they were coming back.

Twenty minutes.

I fiddled with my mother's ring, debating. I still didn't feel comfortable leaving. Not until I was sure they wouldn't turn around for any reason. Besides, it was good to let them get some distance ahead of me. What if they stopped for a break just out of earshot? I was definitely going to adjust my direction to avoid them. It may result in me going further south for a bit, but I could shift course again later.

Thirty minutes.

Hunger was gnawing at me. It was getting warmer the higher the sun rose in the sky, and the thirst was beginning to return, too. Surely, they were far in the distance by now?

My stomach gave another loud growl, and I decided enough was enough. I had to find food, or at least more berries to tide me over. I didn't want to start losing my strength, this early in the Games.

Slowly, and carefully—and as quietly as I possibly could—I climbed down the tree. I glanced this way and that as I did so, eyes darting around like a startled animal's, as if I were expecting someone to be lurking in the bushes just beneath. I was ready to scale right back up if I saw a threat waiting for me.

Fortunately, the area appeared to be deserted.

When both feet were back on the forest floor, I adjusted course to head more southeast, needing to give a wide berth to the tributes from 6 and whatever had caused the girl to hallucinate. After a couple of hours, I could re-evaluate my direction and where I needed to go.

I set off again.

Now that the immediate threat had seemingly passed, it was harder to drown out the memory of the girl's terrified screams ringing in my ears, and the sight of two tributes, stranded in the Arena without the use of one of their hands. Making survival almost insurmountably difficult. Poor Rory…I couldn't imagine what he was going through.

At least I'd been right about one thing. Cato would be stupid to kill me while the rule was in place.

And, in this bizarre world of the Hunger Games, I again found myself hoping he was safe, too, because my own life depended on it.

…

Sometime after noon, I found another plant with the pods full of water, and took the time to drain every one of them. It soothed the immediate throat ache, but my stomach was still protesting the fact that I'd only eaten a few handfuls of berries in the last twenty-four hours, despite all of the energy I expended. The ache was relentless, and I knew it would keep getting worse. Naturally, I was coated in sweat and panting with exertion from trekking most the morning.

Damn this terrain and this ridiculous heat.

I took a short break in the shade of a tree, chewing on some of the berry leaves I'd stored, to at least distract my stomach a bit. They had limited nutrients and didn't taste good at all, but were still better than nothing. I still saved a handful, just knowing my situation could still get much more desperate than the hunger I'd started to experience.

Then, I resumed my journey towards what I hoped was the middle of the Arena, readjusting course again to hopefully resume the east-northeast direction I'd been following originally. Not that it was easy to tell with the forest canopy above. It was more of my best guess at a direction, based on the guidance provided by the Gamemakers.

Of course, this was all assuming the Gamemakers hadn't screwed with me from the very beginning by just putting the arrow facing a random direction on the metal plate. That seemed like something Liviana Vita and her cruel dark eyes would pull.

Actually, never mind. She would definitely want me to find Cato so that he could eventually kill me in the Games and make a very dramatic showing for all of the people rooting for us.

Hiking in this sweltering weather was making me cranky.

Within an hour or so after I'd resumed my journey after eating the berry leaves, something changed. It was subtle, at first. The undergrowth thinned, just a little bit. The thorny bushes became less and less frequent. The plants around me were a bit shorter instead of half of them being taller than me.

I was still immersed in the middle of a tropical forest, but it was becoming marginally easier to navigate. I could progress a bit more quickly. Also, I could have sworn the ground was sloping downward, just ever so slightly.

I continued to tread as quietly as possible, because I could run smack into another tribute at any moment. I also knew that, if this trend kept up and the forest continued to thin over hours of hiking, that only meant it would be easier for other tributes to spot me. I'd have to remain alert.

Just a short while after I made this observation, I navigated my way past a particularly leafy set of bushes and spotted something curious. At first, I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was different, but then my eyes honed in on some of the trees ahead, to the right.

They caught my eye because a considerable amount of light was filtering between them from behind, suggesting there may be open air behind them, a break in the forest. I squinted, then realized I could see hints of soft green behind them, a flat plain of grass.

Cautiously, I walked towards the section of trees, remaining as vigilant as possible. Who knew what lie ahead?

As I approached, though, my suspicions were confirmed: there was a clearing in this part of the forest. An area mostly devoid of the trees and undergrowth. The sunlight from the clearing winkled through the increased breaks in the trees, illuminating random parts of the forest floor nearby in strange patterns. I squinted, able to make out gentle waving grass between the breaks in the trees. It was impossible to tell how big the clearing was from here.

Despite my reservations, I knew I had to check it out. I'd been wandering in this forest for hours and hours and hadn't found a single clearing yet. Surely, there would be some sort of resource there, hidden for me to find.

I would play it safe; go to the edge of the trees, and observe the clearing to figure out what I was dealing with.

When I reached the edge, stepping up behind a tree and peering around it just in case, I saw the clearing was actually pretty small, and almost perfectly circular. It was small enough that I doubted a lot of tributes would happen upon it. I wondered if there were quite a few other clearings like this.

Lovely green grass coated the floor of the clearing, with sporadic purple wildflowers here and there. The brightness was a stark contrast to the shade of the compact trees in the forest. There was no water that I could see, and the front half of the clearing was devoid of anything but grass and sunlight; but near the very back of the clearing was an absolutely massive tree, with gnarled, winding branches extending out in every direction. It was the biggest tree I'd seen so far in the Arena, taller than all of its surroundings, trunk wide and imposing. Its branches were so long that some of them brushed against the branches on the trees along the sides of the clearing.

It would be perfect for me to get a good vantage point. It towered over the other trees nearby.

And then I felt a jolt of surprise, because something had caught my eye next to the tree.

A glint of metal, and a bright splash of color.

I stared intensely at the base of the tree.

Supplies.

Something almost like hope soared in my chest.

There was a gap at the bottom of the gigantic trunk between two thick roots, creating a hollowed-out space that could almost serve as a tiny cave or shelter. But what interested me more than that were the supplies clearly nestled in there; it looked like a pack of some sort, and a weapon, and something else that was the bright color I'd seen, but part of the root obscured my view and made it difficult to determine exactly what was there.

For just the briefest of moments, I wanted to believe that I'd found some sort of hidden area of the Arena, and my reward was the supplies I desperately needed. There was a weapon! And probably food! Maybe even tools to build snares!

For a second, I wanted to believe I'd actually been lucky in coming across this. I truly wanted to think of myself as fortunate.

But I knew that would make me a complete and total idiot.

Luck—at least, luck like this—did not exist in the Hunger Games. Not for a girl from an outer district. Not now, not ever. Everything was by design. Seeing these gifts laid out had briefly caught me off guard, but I wasn't going to fall for it.

Everything came at a cost.

In what universe would the Gamemakers lay out a beautiful clearing with supplies, ripe for the taking? Not this one.

My best guess was that there was some sort of Gamemaker trap here. A trap that would kill someone dumb enough to believe they were lucky to come across available supplies this easily.

Well, I wasn't dumb. Impulsive and/or reckless? Before the Games, sure, on occasion. But in the Arena, I was trying to be as cautious and careful as possible. One wrong move would get me killed.

First, I was going to observe. Perhaps I'd be able to find out something about the trap that was definitely waiting in this clearing somewhere.

I quickly scaled one of the nearby trees, only going high enough to get a good view of the clearing while not sticking out too much. It took a while to find an angle that wasn't too obscured by leaves or branches, but after some adjustments, I had a pretty adequate view of the supplies.

And, for maybe half an hour, I observed. My stomach complained the whole time—thinking about the delicious food that might be in the pack—but I tried my best to ignore it. I couldn't charge in recklessly.

Unfortunately, my observations revealed nothing remotely interesting, and the afternoon was wearing on. If I waited too much longer, evening would arrive. I definitely didn't want to be running around out in the open, in the dimming light, in an area with a deadly trap.

I sighed. Well, I would have to try something a bit more interactive to figure out what type of trap was here.

There was one thing that I was fairly certain of. There had to be some way to access these supplies. If the Gamemakers had thrown so many people out to the edge of the Arena empty-handed, surely there had to be ways to get weapons or tools or food (outside of Sponsors) without going all the way to the Cornucopia.

So, while I was sure there was something elaborately set-up to kill me if I was reckless here, my best guess was there was also a way to get past the trap. The supplies weren't my reward for finding the clearing, they were my reward for outsmarting the Gamemakers' obstacle.

Or maybe I was full of shit.

Either way, I had a strategy to find out.

Throughout the Games I could remember, I had seen many, many traps. Most of them deadly, all of them gruesome. Occasionally the Gamemakers would think up something new and incredibly grotesque. But there were similarities among quite a few of traps.

A lot of them were triggered by the tribute simply stepping in the wrong place, at the wrong time, without looking.

I glanced around at the ground until I saw what I was looking for: a decently-wide stick, thick and sturdy, but not too heavy to throw far. I took a few steps back, then tossed it, aiming so it landed in the thick grass right outside the tree line.

Nothing.

But I wasn't done.

I grabbed another stick, stepped forward as much as I dared without actually entering the clearing, then tossed it about twenty feet from me, until it landed softly on the sunny grass a short distance into the clearing.

Still nothing.

So, it would seem that the area right in front of me, at least, was safe to walk on…by all appearances.

I grabbed another moderately thick stick that I could throw.

This one, I hurled farther, almost as hard as I could, until it landed about halfway between me and the giant tree at the back of the clearing.

And, the instant it touched the ground, there was a hissing noise.

Purple gas exploded from the grass underneath and around where the stick had landed like a small geyser, shooting straight up into the air in a stream that was a couple of feet wide.

I jumped at the abruptness of it, instantly leaping backwards defensively. My heart was pounding with anticipation and I fought the urge to run, even though I was a decently far distance from the gas.

Gas that I highly expected was poisonous.

An underground geyser of poisonous gas. Lovely.

Fortunately, within a couple seconds after the trap had been activated and the gas started exploding from the ground, the hissing noise cut off and the gas stopped emerging from whatever underground nozzle had been triggered by the weight of the stick.

While the gas had been a dark purple color immediately upon shooting out of the grass, I noticed it rapidly lightened after making contact with the air. The higher the gas ascended, the more it seemed to dissipate, even without wind. Within about ten seconds after the trap stopped spewing the gas, I could no longer see any of it. It had completely dispersed in the hot air of the clearing.

I wanted to believe that once it came into contact with the air for long enough, the gas fully disintegrated. This would ensure that any tribute standing on the grass would get blasted, but it wouldn't harm any others a safe distance away. A very small, controlled radius of damage.

Even so, I stood there cautiously, raising my shirt to cover my nose and mouth. What if the gas became clear when making contact with oxygen, and was still spreading, invisible and lethal? Should I have run further away?

But, as a minute passed, then another, and then a couple more, nothing else happened. It truly seemed like touching that part of the clearing released a brief, controlled geyser of poisonous gas that was intended to quickly dissipate afterwards.

But I didn't even want to know what would happen to someone who stepped on it. The lower half of their body would be instantly hit, and they'd be enveloped long before the cloud dispersed. What were the effects of the blast? Would it knock a tribute out? Paralyze them? Cause severe skin damage? Burn them?

Would it cause the hallucinations that girl went through earlier?

I sighed, reaching down to grab another stick. I had figured out what the trap was. But not how far it extended, or whether it would activate more than once. That poisonous geyser had only been a couple of feet wide, and the clearing was at least seventy feet across. More testing was needed.

At least the hissing noise wasn't too loud. I hoped it wouldn't draw other tributes.

I would circle around the edge of the clearing, and use these sticks to figure out exactly which parts were dangerous to walk through.

Testing the extent of a Gamemaker trap. What a great way to spend the evening.

…

It was evening by the time I finished my testing. My arm was sore from throwing all of these damn sticks, since I had to select ones that were solid enough to active the poison geysers. A tiny twig didn't activate anything, I'd learned. I was sure the Gamemakers were having a big laugh at how ridiculous I probably looked.

My hunger had grown worse, gnawing at me. Fortunately, I had found one of the water-bearing plants just inside the forest on the opposite side of the clearing, so I had been able to take the edge off of my thirst. Not that a single plant was enough. It helped, but given my exertion and the sweat pouring down my body, it wasn't a long-term solution.

I wasn't exactly a star at stick-throwing, but I had a rough estimate through my efforts. Thankfully the clearing wasn't that large, and its shape made the trap placement somewhat predictable after a while. It was pretty to anticipate which areas were trapped and which weren't, after I'd thrown enough sticks.

The outermost part of the clearing appeared to be fine most of the way around, save for the very back part that ran just behind the huge tree (clearly, the Gamemakers didn't want any tribute walking right up to the tree itself without getting blasted with poison).

That meant you could safely step into the clearing initially, without getting hit with the dangerous fumes. But once you got about twenty-five or thirty feet into the clearing, that's when the trap triggered. And, unfortunately for me, the underground poisonous geysers could be triggered more than once and circled the giant tree, coming right up against it on its back side.

However.

There was apparently a "safe zone" where the poison wouldn't activate.

It was hard to really be precise with these sticks. But, from what I could tell, there was less than ten feet of safe space right next to the base of the tree, but only in the front, and on the right and left sides, if looking at the tree from where I'd entered the clearing (since I'd proven that the back side of the tree was unsafe).

This appeared to indicate that the place where the supplies were situated was safe. I even threw sticks deliberately into the alcove and right in front of it to check. Each time, nothing was activated.

So, I had been right. Theoretically, there was a way to get the supplies. If one could get to the small safe area next to the trunk of the tree without touching the ground between here and there.

As I glanced around the clearing, knowing I needed to make a decision soon because evening was wearing on, I couldn't help an odd sense of foreboding. Because the way to get to the supplies was incredibly obvious, once I figured out the safe zone.

It was like this trap had been made for me.

The massive center tree's branches stretched out far and wide, brushing against the branches of the smaller trees outside the clearing.

A great climber could scale a tree outside the clearing, use it to cross to the gigantic tree, then climb down, right to the supplies, without ever activating the traps.

There may have been other ways to get to the supplies, too. But none were obvious. I couldn't help feeling this was a little too convenient, that climbing was the way to get past this trap, when most tributes couldn't climb as well as me.

I had the sudden, sick notion that maybe the Gamemakers had plotted various types of traps here, and then decided on which one to use depending which tribute reached the clearing first.

It made me feel uneasy and angry, all in one. This was all just a big test. If I passed, I got some supplies to maybe live another day and find my partner in the Arena.

If I failed, I died, and maybe Cato would be brought down with me.

It was revolting.

But I had to push that aside. I knew what I had to do. I'd come this far, and things would start getting dire if I didn't get supplies soon.

Glancing at the trees and the size of the branches, it was very achievable to climb over to the gigantic tree and then shimmy down to the supplies.

I didn't have a ton of time left to do this. The light would start fading soon as the sun sank below the horizon.

I examined the trees outside the clearing for one more moment, selecting one that would make it easiest to cross to the middle tree.

I can't psych myself out now, I thought.

My stomach growled fiercely, agreeing with me, the pangs reminding me of what was at stake here.

I arrived at the tree in question, scaling it quickly, my sore arm protesting as I hauled myself up on the branch that I was going to use to cross over to the giant tree in the clearing. It was fairly sturdy, though admittedly, just a bit smaller than ideal for how far I was going out on the branch before switching trees. The risk was small, but it was present.

Stop thinking about it. You've climbed a million times. This is perfectly suited to you.

I tried to evenly distribute my body weight as much as possible, starting on my hands and knees. I had the balance to walk upright for a while if I really wanted, but I was being extra cautious, given the situation I was in.

I inched along the branch, bit by bit, eventually having to lower myself further as the branch thinned and tilted more upwards, wrapping my legs around the sides. I ignored the discomfort as the branch rubbed at my skin through the thin shirt I wore. The branch wasn't protesting the weight, fortunately. The slow pace and even distribution, combined with the fact that I was very light to begin with, helped. As I progressed, hand over hand, getting closer and closer to the point where the branches touched, I had to resist the urge to look down.

Not because I was scared of heights, but because I knew there was a minefield of poison gas geysers below me. I couldn't say I'd ever climbed with stakes like these before.

I felt sweat drip down my temple, but refused to brush it away. My eyes were fixated on the giant tree's branch to my left, getting closer and closer. It was thicker than this one at the point where I wanted to transition over. I just had to make it a little bit farther.

When I was just a few feet away from where I planned to switch over, I heard the branch below me groan for the first time. It was subtle and slight, but it was there.

Though my instinct was to panic and move faster, I forced myself to slow, trying to extend my body even more. My heart was fluttering desperately in my chest. I had never been so nervous to climb a damn tree.

The branch fortunately didn't groan again, and now I had reached the point where the two branches rubbed up against each other, and I knew I could swap over now. The branch I was switching over to was only slightly higher than this one. It should be easy to move over. Back home, I would have done this quickly, without hesitation, trusting my nimbleness and movements.

Here? I couldn't risk that.

I let go of my current branch with my left hand. I inched forward, bit by bit, until I wrapped it around the branch I was moving to.

My right arm followed, and I clasped my hands together in a tight grip. Now I lay there, my arms hugging the massive tree's branch, my legs still wrapped around the previous one slightly below it. I was sure it looked comical.

Now the harder part.

Don't think about it. Just do it.

I took a deep breath.

I uncurled each leg separately, pulling them up one at a time until both knees were resting on top of the previous branch, instead of wrapped around it.

Now that I had that position and weight distribution, it was an easy matter to swing my right leg up—my arms still wrapped around the branch like my life depended on it, my abdominal muscles taut with the effort—and over the branch I was moving to, hooking my knee around it. I used that leverage to bring the rest of my body up and around to follow it, my left leg following.

And, after some minor repositioning and adjustments, I was on top of—and clinging to—a branch connected to the giant tree.

I smiled slightly, but didn't let myself fully relax yet.

I began to inch my way down—I was heading towards the giant clearing tree rear-end first, because I hadn't felt comfortable turning my entire body around yet—the movements becoming easier and easier as the branch widened when approaching the gargantuan trunk.

Once the branch was wide enough for me not to need to wrap my legs around it, I adjusted my position again, turning around carefully until I faced the tree. I was approaching one of the "safe sides", but the supplies were in the front, so I would have to circle around and touch down as close to the base of the tree as possible.

And pray that all of my testing of the underground traps had been accurate, and I hadn't screwed anything up.

Fortunately, the size of this tree made moving from branch to branch a breeze, once I reached the trunk. I was swiftly able to move to an adjacent branch, then another, and another, until I was on the front side of the tree. I was trying to climb down as close to the hollow with the supplies as I could. My progress was quick; it helped knowing the ground immediately below me was safe. Probably.

My body was coated in sweat; I hadn't realized how intensely I had been focused, or how hard the adrenaline hit.

I still took caution, now that I was on the front side of the massive tree, as I began to climb down. The last thing I needed was to place a hand or foot improperly and break a limb, especially after the ordeal I'd just been through.

But, after another tense minute or two, I had just about done it.

I hung from the lowest branch, only holding on with my arms, my feet a couple of feet above the ground. I was as close to the trunk as possible without falling on the uneven roots. I had positioned myself carefully to be over grass, but I should still be several feet within the safe zone.

This was it. Had I tested the trap properly?

Well, it was too late to back out now, wasn't it? I had already invested myself in this plan. I had to trust my instincts.

I released the branch, landing perfectly on my feet on the ground just below.

Nothing. No hissing, no poisonous geyser, no pain.

I couldn't help the triumphant grin that appeared on my face, feeling a brief surge of pride. For once, I hoped the damn cameras were watching this.

Sticking as close to the tree trunk as possible, placing my feet carefully, I made my way the short distance over to the large gap between the roots. Where the supplies were. My eyes fell on them, and I couldn't help the relief that washed over me. I released a deep breath. I couldn't relax, not in the Arena, but my survival chances had just gone up.

Lying against the pack was a small, sharp knife. That alone made a world of difference. I picked it up, examined its serrated edge, and smiled again before setting it aside, somewhere I wouldn't poke myself.

I settled inside the small sheltered area, taking comfort in the roots all around me and massive tree above, ready to dig into my spoils. The splash of color I had seen from a distance appeared to be some sort of thin, bright blue, plastic tarp. I figured I could use it to collect rainwater, assuming it ever rained. Or maybe to help cover a shelter, though it wasn't very big.

Not exactly subtle, though, with the color.

The backpack itself was a dark green, which was convenient, as it wouldn't stand out halfway across the forest like the tarp would. The material was thick and felt waterproof, and it was a medium size. Easy to carry, especially since it had convenient straps. I unzipped it eagerly, hoping at least there was one useful thing inside, even though I was already far ahead of where I'd been this morning in terms of supplies.

There were only a couple things within the backpack –the Gamemakers could have fit a lot more into it, but that would be too easy—but I still felt another wave relief.

Inside the pack was wire, a length of rope, and a large flashlight.

Wire! That would make a big difference, I knew. A way to catch food. My stomach groaned, unhappy that there hadn't been any food in the pack, but could I really complain? I'd also gotten a weapon, and a way to collect water. Plus, I could use the rope to sleep in a tree if I wanted to. It was certainly better than I'd been faring earlier. I had a way to catch my own food now, and the tools necessary to stay sustained.

The flashlight could come in handy down the line, though I had no desire to draw attention to myself in these woods at night. Judging by its size, this tool would have a very large and powerful beam.

Experimentally, and because it was light out and shouldn't draw attention to me, I reached out and grabbed the flashlight. I turned and aimed it at the small, dark hollow partially underneath the tree, so that I could hopefully see how effective it would be, and turned it on.

It had a large beam, I was right about that…but I found myself utterly confused, because it wasn't a normal flashlight. Instead, the beam was a strange, purple-blue hue, throwing an oddly-colored circle on the inside of the small hollow under the tree.

I'd never seen a flashlight this color before. I turned it off and examined it, perplexed. Outwardly, it looked just like an ordinary flashlight.

It had to serve some function. Otherwise, the Gamemakers wouldn't have made the effort to include it. There were normal flashlights in the Games all the time.

Frowning, I turned it back on, aiming at the small hollow between the roots of the tree again, the bluish-purple disc appearing once more amidst the darkness. Hesitantly—and very slowly—I inched just the very tip of my pinky finger in front of where the beam started. I half expected the light to burn me.

Nothing. Still befuddled, I slowly slid my hand in front of the flashlight until it was blocking the beam entirely. It did no harm to my skin. So, it wasn't a weapon. I supposed that made sense. A weapon incorporating light would be pretty unfair. Too powerful.

Still, as I briefly aimed the flashlight at a few different spots in the gap underneath the tree, I couldn't figure out what the hell it was for. It didn't do a very good job of actually lighting anything up. The beam appeared wide, but it scarcely lit up the hollow. Instead, it just created the oddly-colored circle.

Sighing, I turned it off. I could think about this later; now wasn't the time to experiment with some weird Gamemaker flashlight. I tucked it back in the pack, filing the knowledge of its existence away in the back of my mind. I knew the Gamemakers wouldn't just include it for no reason.

I peered up at the sky. I guessed I had less than three hours until dusk, at most. But with the artificial Arena and the Gamemakers controlling every facet of it, who knew? I could be way off. It got dark when they said it did. Typically, though, the Games I had watched followed pretty standard day and night cycles…at least at first.

So, judging by how yesterday had gone, I had just enough time to scout the area, then try to set up some snares and find a spot to stay for the night if I wanted to leave this gigantic tree behind.

I briefly considered staying.

The upside was that this hollow in the tree was perfectly suited to make a shelter in. I would be protected from any tributes approaching me by the poison geysers, assuming they were still active. I could sleep easy, knowing nobody could sneak up on me.

The downside was that this clearing was a pretty distinctive landmark. Anyone who wandered by would surely check it out. Even if they couldn't reach me, someone with a ranged weapon could still pose a threat. And, in general, I just didn't like the idea of this clearing and massive tree drawing other tributes who happened to be nearby.

Plus, if I were being completely honest with myself, I also didn't love the idea of sleeping ten feet away from the underground nozzles containing the purple gas. Even though it seemed to have a pretty small area of effect, the thought made me uncomfortable. What if a wild animal activated them during the night? What if the wind randomly picked up to where it would blow gas right in my face?

Seemed like something the Gamemakers would do.

No, now that I had rope, the smartest thing would be to just sleep up in a tree, tied to the trunk. The Girl on Fire had done pretty well with that last year, as had a couple other tributes in past Games.

Plus, my hunger was extremely uncomfortable by now. I'd start losing energy if I went all night without eating. I didn't want to put myself at even the slightest disadvantage by wandering around with my energy rapidly fading. I really needed to set up some snares before I hunkered down for the night.

But first, I was going to climb this massive tree, as high as I safely could, and get the lay of the land. It was the biggest tree I'd seen, and hopefully I could at least find out how much further this forest extended.

I rolled the bright blue tarp up as much as possible, and managed to cram it into the pack with the other items. I put the knife in there, too, noting there was a convenient inner pocket I could use to help secure it.

I tossed the backpack over my shoulders, adjusting the straps until it sat comfortably. Then, with only a quick scan of the clearing to make sure nobody was trying to sneak up on me, I set off. I skirted around the trunk to get to the closest convenient branch for climbing, and began to ascend.

This tree was so wide, and had so many massive branches, it was an easy task.

I pulled myself up and up and up, without too much effort, despite the fact that my body was tired and sore from the day's events. And yesterday's. My muscles groaned a bit (as did my stomach, for different reasons), but I continued to progress.

Thirty feet, forty feet, fifty…I kept going. Normally I wouldn't go this high, because the branches on most trees got too precarious, but on this tree, it was fairly safe. There were so many knots and twists and natural footholds in the tree that I probably could've scaled it easily even when I was younger. Hell, it would probably support the weight of a bigger tribute.

I didn't want to think about that.

Soon, I reached a point where I was just about even with the tops of all the other trees around, though I wasn't anywhere near the top of this one, since it towered over all of its neighbors. I pressed a bit higher, climbing onto another easy branch in reach, then one more. Finally, when I was about as high as I thought was still safe and the branches were becoming less ideal for climbing, I clambered onto a twisting branch that was wide enough to sit on, wiping at my sweaty forehead. I was panting slightly at the effort, but there had been familiarity in the climb, too. I hoped that all of my abilities today had impressed some Sponsors.

I scooted a bit outwards, as far from the trunk as I was comfortable, to position myself in a way where I'd get the most expansive view of the surroundings. Then—feeling a bit nervous, mainly because I wasn't sure what to expect—I turned, broadly surveying the surroundings all around.

It was beautiful, I thought, for a place of such suffering. The Gamemakers had made sure to include a lovely view, for anyone who dared climb high enough to see it. The vibrant green of the forest contrasted strikingly against the various orangish and pinkish hues of the sky as the sun was slowly setting.

West, the general direction I'd come from, was obviously all forest, and my eyes immediately averted from the brightness of the sinking sun towards the northern direction.

It looked like the north was all forest, too. At least as far as I could see. The terrain was pretty level, so I had a decently wide view. However, a good distance north, I did see what looked like fog, or mist, hovering above the treetops. That wouldn't have been odd in certain climates, but something about it looked off to me. Or maybe I was growing paranoid being in the Arena.

I turned my body slightly and shifted my eyes to the east. This was the direction I'd been heading, and the direction I assumed I'd find the center of the Arena.

Turns out, the Arena wasn't all forest.

The dense vegetation still stretched out for a ways ahead of me—a few more hours of hiking, hopefully not more, since it looked like the forest kept thinning in that direction—but my suspicions from earlier had been confirmed. The ground had started to slope downward as I moved east. It looked like, gradually, it continued to do so.

The downward slope allowed me to have a much easier view of what I'd eventually run into if I continued going that way.

A desert.

Great.

I resisted the urge to groan out loud. Other than being dumped into an ocean where I couldn't swim, that was probably one of the least desirable climates they could give us.

From here, I could just see a swath of pale sand dunes, barren and desolate. Lovely. It was hard to make out the size of dunes from here, but it didn't seem perfectly level. Which meant it would be unpleasant to walk through, in addition to probably having no cover.

However, the desert didn't take up the entirety of the rest of the Arena. It was apparently not as massive as the forest I'd been wandering around in.

I narrowed my eyes and scanned the horizon, trying to map out the geography as much as possible. My view was necessarily limited, but from what I could see, beyond the desert, the landscape changed again, though still starkly different to the lush, green vegetation I was sitting in.

If one kept hiking towards the east, and passed through the desert, the land began to slope upwards again. The sand dunes gradually morphed into rocky, craggy hills. They weren't too steep, so I assumed they were navigable; at least, the ones closest to the desert were. The desert hills seemed to slope higher and higher the further east you went. The furthest ones I could see, at the very edge of my visible horizon, looked precipitous and dangerous. Somewhere between hills and small mountains. Though I wasn't sure where the Arena ended.

I closed my eyes, picturing the Arena as best I could. Dense forest in the west, then desert somewhat in the middle, and hilly, rough, craggy terrain to the east.

The Gamemakers really wanted some variety this year.

I contemplated what this meant, though, in terms of survival.

I had obviously never been in, nor seen, a desert outside of watching previous Games. I doubted that a desert would normally occur so close to a tropical forest, so this was an artificial Gamemaker-designed construct, and I wasn't sure what rules it would follow. I knew usually they were deprived of water, consumed by searing heat, yet a lot of deserts were horribly frigid at night. Not an ideal place to survive. The obvious thing was that the desert would provide no cover.

I wasn't sure the hills would be better, on the opposite side. I would assume there would be caves or some way to take shelter, and perhaps animals to try to hunt, but it was still less cover than the forest.

And it seemed like getting water would be problematic.

I sighed, frustrated. It wasn't like I could really consider where I'd go next, not until I found Cato. And hopefully Ben.

I was abruptly hit with a realization, then. Claudius Templesmith had said the tributes starting at the Cornucopia were in the middle of the Arena. Did that mean they started in the middle of the desert? It was impossible to tell, without knowing the size of the Arena, or the proportions of the landscapes.

If the desert did contain the cornucopia somewhere, that wasn't ideal. Normally the Careers camped out there, hoarding the supplies, but I doubted camping in the middle of a desert would be pleasant. They may have decided to seek shelter from the elements. Perhaps they'd come just to the edge of the forest, seeing the shade.

The forest stretched a long way, though. Even if I reached the edge of it, it could take me forever to find them, depending how far they'd gone.

Or maybe I was horribly unlucky and Cato had ventured to the hills on the far side. That would mean I still had an incredibly long way to go.

The existence of a desert in the middle of the Arena just made this harder, because it made it more likely that the Careers had moved away from there. I had been hoping that they'd be near the Cornucopia, which was at least an identifiable landmark. But I couldn't see the Cornucopia from here anyway.

This had always been an uphill battle to begin with. I grasped at the branch beneath me, gripping it in frustration. Of course, they Gamemakers just made this as annoying as possible.

I'd been up here in this tree long enough, though. I needed to find a less conspicuous tree I could sleep in for shelter, and hopefully find a set of animal tracks somewhere to set up a snare. Sitting up here wallowing in misery wouldn't help things.

Sighing, I began to make my way down, bracing myself to again put my climbing capabilities to use in order to depart the clearing and avoid the poisonous minefield below.

…

Fortunately, I was able to transition from the gigantic tree back to the one I'd climbed previously without incident. I was cautious and slow moving again; this time, I had taken even more care at the point I'd shifted from one tree to another, moving at a frustratingly leisurely pace to ensure I didn't distribute my weight improperly. The fact that I was moving to a slightly smaller branch, and the sweat that was slick against my palms, didn't help my situation. But I had been meticulous, inching my way up the branch and then moving over one limb at a time again. I had brushed my discomfort aside and swallowed my nerves as much as possible.

The last thing I needed was to get careless at the last minute. I had done this before; I knew I could do it again.

After some patience, concentration, and effort, though, I made it safely back on the ground. I rolled my tense shoulders and let out a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding, adjusting my backpack.

The risk had been well worth it for these supplies. And the weapon. I didn't feel quite as helpless now.

I set off—towards the miserable desert, I now knew—keeping a keen eye on my surroundings and the forest floor, attempting to spot animal tracks.

Shortly after I left the clearing, a cannon went off.

As always, my heart stopped. And as always, I froze in place, hoping and praying that the death hadn't occurred near me.

Standing there, the spike of adrenaline washing over me, my brain scrambled to think back about the number of deaths today. There had been the cannon overnight, then one in the early morning, then the hallucinating girl. This one made four total cannons today. I didn't think I could have possibly slept through or missed one.

That's fifteen total dead, I thought. Almost a third of the tributes in less than forty-eight hours…though that was normal. There were always a lot of deaths at the beginning, then it started to drag out.

It appeared the death hadn't occurred in my immediate vicinity, and I forced my taut muscles to relax. I couldn't afford to linger. The light was gradually fading, and I knew I'd have to hurry to find a spot for these snares before it was too difficult to see as dusk approached. I was glad the forest had thinned a bit, letting slightly more light in, though it was much later than ideal for snare-setting.

I wandered on, still trying to be as quiet and vigilant of my surroundings as possible, idly itching at some of my bug bites and chewing on the last of my berry leaves to try to trick my brain into thinking I was eating (it didn't really work). My throat was getting parched again. At least now it would be easier to drain the water-bearing pods with this knife.

I was just starting to get frustrated when I finally saw what looked like a tiny set of tracks. They were almost indistinct, and I knew I'd have no success if I tried to follow them, but I didn't need to. I just had to set up my snare here.

I began to quickly work on putting together the trap, the process coming to my mind easily—I had, after all, visited this survival station multiple times. I felt a tiny smirk curling my lips as I worked on replicating the most basic snare I'd been taught, which only needed wire, knife, a couple of sticks, and some sort of flexible sapling to work. Fortunately, all of those things were now easily at my disposal, or abundant in this area.

I wiped my hands on my pants, surveying my work when I was done. I didn't really want to rely on just one snare, and I still had an abundance of wire left, so I made my way a short distance further in the direction that the tracks had appeared to be heading.

I didn't see any more obvious tracks here, but I located a spot that looked like a place small animals would frequently run through, remembering the trainer's lectures on this topic back at the snare station.

I put together another of the same type of snare using some more of the wire, placing the rest in my pack. My stomach was growling again, gnawing at my insides painfully. Hopefully one of these snares would catch something. I would hate to go hungry another day.

Now it was time to select a tree to sleep in. I knew it wasn't smart to sleep directly over the snares. That had been one of the lessons we were taught – you had to trap, cook, and sleep in different places.

I was very meticulous at noting the direction I was heading away from the snares, and the approximate distance away before I selected the tree I'd be sleeping in. Ideally, I should've gone a bit further from the snares, but I was nervous about losing sight of them…and more nervous about the fact that it was dusk now, and I could hardly see a thing.

I was not using this strange purple flashlight and drawing any nearby tributes to my exact location.

I scaled the tree, going high enough that I would be fairly difficult to spot, selecting the branch that had the most offshoots and broad leaves, hoping this would help obscure me from view. I was also high enough that most tributes would have difficulty climbing up here. I wanted to go higher, but I knew a sturdy branch was safer to sleep on…and by now, I could barely see, and it was getting extremely difficult to climb.

It was high enough that I'd die if I fell from the tree. But that's what the rope was for. I settled down in the fork where the branch met the trunk and then pulled my pack forward, removing the rope. The last thing I wanted to do was have this precious bag of supplies drop out of the tree, but it was uncomfortable between my back and the tree. So instead, I put my arms into the straps again but backwards from how I normally wore it, the pack sitting on my lap instead. I tightened the straps as much as I could at my current angle.

I'd never actually tied myself to a tree to sleep overnight before. But it wasn't overly complicated to figure out. I stretched out my legs and then proceeded to tie myself to the branch I sat on, looping the rope around the branch and my legs once and tying a basic knot to secure it (so knot tying had been helpful, I thought), then looping it a couple more times around the branch and my legs to make sure I was secure. I tried to space out each loop of rope on my legs to ensure better weight distribution if I did somehow roll off the branch in the middle of the night. When I only had a little bit of rope left, I tied it around my chest and pack, ensuring there was no way I could drop it.

My hands and arms were still free, so that I could easily reach in and grab the knife, though.

I settled against the back of the trunk. It was almost time for the death recap. The thought made my stomach twist in knots. And now that I was sitting here, it was harder not to think about the hunger and thirst plaguing me. I'd found four of those strange bushes today, but it felt like it was just enough to prevent me from weakening too much, and not as much water as I actually needed. I was still dehydrated. I really needed a more reliable water source.

Not that my prospects looked good, based on what I'd seen of the Arena.

Humans could go a long time without food, I knew that, though less so when I also wasn't getting adequate water. It was only my second day in the Arena. It would get worse and worse. I shouldn't complain yet.

But here, all alone in the woods of a place designed to kill me, it was hard to keep my mind off of the dull pain in my stomach, and the various aches and discomforts.

If I didn't have food caught in the snares in the morning, tomorrow was going to be miserable.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything else. But the thoughts that popped into my head weren't any more pleasant. Who had died today? Was Ben still alive? Autumn? With her illness, in this heat…if she hadn't found food or water, I couldn't imagine what condition she'd be in.

Thinking of Autumn automatically made me think of Rudd, who had probably died in the bloodbath, and it just worsened my mood.

The abrupt commencement of the blaring Capitol anthem, coupled with the seal appearing high in the night sky, did not improve it.

I wrapped my arms around my pack, clutching it to me, as if it could provide some semblance of comfort.

Is it going to be this bad every night? I wondered, as the dread overtook me, making me feel nauseated despite my hunger. I didn't want to watch the death recap. Some childish, naïve part of me didn't want to know. It wanted me to cover my eyes, to hide from the horror of whatever I was about to see. It wanted me to cower away from the inevitable starkness of my situation.

But I couldn't look away as the first face appeared in the sky.

It was the younger male tribute, from District 5. I didn't recognize him, but I did recognize that meant all of the remaining Careers had made it through the day. It wasn't remotely surprising, but it still dragged my mood down even further. Especially when I realized that three people from District 5 were now dead.

His face disappeared, and was replaced by the older female tribute from District 8. I released out a heavy breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding; Ben and Autumn were still alive. I knew I shouldn't be thinking about them, it was only going to cause issues. But every time I reminded myself of that fact, I turned around and did it again.

Still, the tight ball of dread in my chest loosened, just marginally, knowing I wouldn't have to grieve another person from my district tonight.

The woman's face from 8 disappeared, and was followed by the younger female tribute from 10. I recognized her immediately; the delusional, terrified tribute, fighting off ghosts in the forest and covered in cuts and scrapes from the thorns. I had the marginal advantage of knowing the man from 6 had killed her, using a knife.

But my recognition of her face was accompanied by the memory of that final, haunting wail, right as she was fatally wounded. I knew that was going to stick with me for a long time. It was going to lurk in the fringes of my nightmares.

It was one thing to see the deaths on television each year. It was another to be there, and to hear it happen.

The girl from 10 disappeared, and was replaced by the final face that would be shown tonight.

Tiny, underfed little Poppy, from District 12. I felt a tug in my gut. It wasn't like I'd known her well, but it was a bit different, seeing their face when you could put a name to it. I remembered how small and scared she'd been at the fire-starting station, when Caspian had come over to harass me.

And I felt bad for Rory Hawthorne (who was still alive, I realized with another wave of relief). I knew they'd stuck together at some points during training. I wondered if he was scared and alone—missing the use of one of his hands, since his partner Ruby had already died—and having to face the fact that a friend from home was dead.

Stop. Thinking. About. It. I lectured myself angrily. There was nothing I could do about it. Dwelling would make it worse. Empathy was going to be my undoing. Every time a tribute died that wasn't me, I was closer to seeing my family again. I should be focusing on that train of thought.

I hated thinking about it so heartlessly, I recoiled at the thought, but the survivalist part of me knew I'd have to get used to this. To seeing the faces, every night, as the tributes dwindled.

Unless I was killed. Then my face would be projected in the sky. If Ben were still alive, he'd have to see it. My family would, too. But they would have already watched me die live on television.

The thought of that was so abhorrent that it caused a wave of stubbornness to wash over me. No. I wasn't going to sit here and lament over how depressing this was. I had accepted all of that when I'd been Reaped. I had to focus on strategy, and how best to keep myself alive.

I had to maximize my chances to see my family again.

Grieving tributes I didn't even know would not help those chances.

I stared up at the sky with renewed determination as the death recap ended, sending the Arena into darkness again, with only a faint sliver of a moon tonight to help.

Yet, as I tried to settle myself against the tree and pray for sleep to find me even amidst the pangs of hunger, I could still hear the screams of that terrified girl ringing in my ears.

…

A/N:

More of the Arena's secrets have been revealed! And many more to come ;)

So, I know plenty of you were hoping for some Cato in this chapter, but I felt it was really important to show that June can be self-sufficient, on some level. She's got a good head on her shoulders, and I didn't want to fall into the trap of her using Cato as a crutch from the beginning. I'd rather build some suspense and show what she's capable of on her own. I hope that makes sense.

Next chapter we'll see a familiar face…or two...

That next chapter is written, but does need some editing. As per usual I hope to have it posted within the next week or sooner.

Thank you for the additional reviews and several follows/favorites/kudos guys! Seriously, it means a lot!