Extremes tended to go one of two ways when it came to Games' arenas. Either it made them so uniquely special that nobody could forget them, or it turned them so monotonous that nobody could forget being bored while they were supposed to be fearful.

Benjamin Boydan wondered which of the two categories this Games fell under. The savannah he was in had some watering holes, normally protected by elephants though, and plenty of brush. He was even surprised to find some long, thin trees clustered here and there. So he hoped they were interesting enough to have the sponsors opening their wallets.

This was a moment he really needed another sponsor. Ben lifted the hands with gloves - a prior sponsor gift for navigating around the huge grey giants wandering the plains in intimidating looking herds. Three tributes had not, and had been trampled.

He had lifted his hands to blow on them again, because contrary to what he and most viewers in the districts likely expected it was freezing there. That first night Benjamin had gotten the shock of his life, along with a couple of tributes who died that first night.

They had thrown their thick thermal jackets away when the countdown ended and had travelled too far to return before nightfall ended. Both outlier tributes had frozen huddling separately in sparse foliage.

Ben has smartly kept his jacket, tying it around his waist or using it to keep the sun off his head at times. Nothing was worth abandoning in the arena, at least until the finale.

It was like the ultimate punishment the Games could offer - no peace for even a second. The two extremes gnawed at his exterior and plagued him more than the thought of running across another tribute in the empty expanse.

During the day the sun blazed overhead and beat down as if mere meters above them. Everybody sweat nonstop and the most common death had been confrontation around the scattered few watering holes. Some caused by tributes (mainly careers) and some by the elephants.

However during the night everything went frigid. It was as if the world was tipped on its head, gaining a little frost wherever there was moisture. Everybody's breath came out in visible huffs until the warming rays of the rising sun appeared.

Given the flatter nature of the arena - lengthy, even areas split apart by hilly segments - it was a tricky thing to travel. Walking out of a dune made you at too prominent a height, and then the openness of the field made anybody easy pickings. Yet the harsh, changing nature of the land made it impossible to stay in one place for long.

Ben had compensated in a simple but rather brilliant way of walking behind the elephant herd at just enough of a distance to be safe. He tended to hunch (unless his back just would not shut up) so that hopefully anyone seeing him from a distance would mistake him for a baby elephant straggling behind.

It worked pretty well during the daytime, especially since the elephants made regular trips to ponds that grew smaller by the day. It was a funny thing watching them roll in the mud with aching eyes, waiting for his turn at the watering hole. He always stayed respectfully back and then scampered off at night to find some niche that might yield a bit of warmth.

Those were few and far between. Tonight he had walked for nearly an hour and come across not one thing. The boy travelled in a circular way around the edges of the flat, disc-like expanse of savannah making up the mid-southwestern part of the arena. Now Ben had come back to where he had started with absolutely nothing to show for it.

No sponsor parachute came so he knew he was on his own.

Feeling a bit lost his gaze roamed the gigantic creatures resting clumped together. Envy struck him as he imagined the warmth passing between their leathery grey skin. One uncurled and rose it's limber trunk, exhaling sharply in what Ben supposed was a sneeze of sorts. The airborne snot mixed with a warm huff became disgustingly very visible like a mist.

Another wisp of warmth against the cold night air caught his attention from the corner of his eye. When Benjamin turned his jaw dropped at just how much steam was pouring off the surface. It was like back in the fire starting station when the trainer showed them the dangers of starting a fire with wet kindling on top!

But instead of coming off flames, this steam came from a grand mushy heap of dark brown whose scent even from afar was unmistakable. Elephant dung.

It was kind of similar to a cowpat back home except for the size and intensity. Maybe if all the cows in the field used the same spot it would look like that, he supposed while watching the steam swirl.

Benjamin's gut felt a laceration of horror strike through him as his eyes remained fixated on the dancing tendrils against the cold dark.

That thing was warm and more than big enough to fit him.

Arthur felt a revulsion at the idea but if the alternative was death, well... how could he refuse?

Of course the last thing he wanted was to actually wade into that steaming elephant shit so he persisted for another ten minutes in roaming the area for a crevice to shield him from the breeze or a way to trap his body heat.

None came.

Knowing that the cameras were probably on him unless somebody else was dying from the cold, Ben blushed deeply as he stepped up to the elephant dung. "It's this or I die, so..." he muttered loud enough for the cameras to catch, he hoped. His pack was slid off his back and nudged under a brambly, tumbleweed like bush for safe keeping.

Before stepping any closer the teenager took a deep breath and then began to dig. Of course he had to breathe soon enough and the stench overwhelmed him enough that he gagged and stepped away from the mound to heave.

Benjamin fought to keep the hard worn contents of his stomach in, but that dung reeked. This was a boy used to district ten's cow dung, but this overwhelmed his nostrils and slid down deep into his pores until he felt he tasted it. Needless to say, he could not stop himself from vomiting.

Once he straightened up and wiped his mouth off Benjamin turned grudge filled eyes back on the still greatly steaming mound. He redoubled his efforts to dig enough of a space in the middle to fit, determined now to get something out of the dung since it cost him precious food and water.

There was a surprising amount of fiber and plant matter in it so Ben succeeded in creating a nice space to slip into within a couple minutes. He had to get on his knees to fit properly, probably thanks to his last couple growth spurts.

The moment his legs slid in Ben was overwhelmed again by the squelching and being in the eye of the stench. He retched a bit but that was all, although he did have to take a moment to pause and gather his dizzied wits.

The only reason he did not leave the dung was that in addition to being overwhelmed by the smell and feel, the heat of it hit like a beautiful, roiling wave. Benjamin was immediately overwhelmed by the steaming heat. The lad was immensely grateful after wondering an hour earlier if he would ever regain the feeling in his fingertips.

Imagine that, going through the hunger games in a savannah and coming out with a few less fingers or toes from frostbite!

That was not to be his fate thanks to a strong enough stomach to handle the smell. The gloves protecting his hands, now caked in the muck, at least spared him from feeling it on bare skin. Mostly, he was spared that indignity, although his ankles bore the worst of it when dung squished its way down his lightweight boots. Thank goodness he was not a tribute that discarded his jacket too!

Once he was in, his hands turned on the dung like an eager child ready for their next mud pie because now he had to bury himself in. Seal in the warmth.

God it felt good being surrounded by heat after trembling in the frigid night air. He could not fathom how the arid, hot environment managed to achieve such a nighttime low. But he did not have to understand about cloud cover or the equator to know it was vital to stay warm.

Ben heaped tree dung further up, leaving his arms exposed like an odd looking mutt. When his eyes watered he bit back the feeling and pushed the dung higher. His hands pressed it in, compact it securely around him. The steam bathed his face so nicely he could almost (but not) forgive the stench.

After twenty or so minutes the steam lessened but not too much. Just enough that Benjamin pulled one arm in and used the other to push the dung up around his neck. Once secured up to his chin in the fibery mud, he retracted that arm too.

Now he was simply a head protruding from a dung heap.

Benjamin had a gentle smile on his face while closing his eyes. It felt surreal to have the cold air still against his cheeks and forehead while the rest of him was so cozily confined. Not once could he ignore he intense smell enveloping him, but Ben forgave it.

After listening to the infrequent trumping or braying of an elephant in the night and the whistle of the breeze, he was lulled. It was a strangely comforting experience despite the occasional burst of bile climbing up the back of his throat. As the steam lessened the interior dung remained warmest, keeping Benjamin snug.

Unable to help himself, he drifted off to sleep. His jacket and clothing retained most of the warmth as the dung cooled down. The rivulets of steam cascading off it steadily slowed to a halt as the boy slept.

Benjamin failed to notice the hardening shell of the dung as the exterior cooled. He never realized the warmth left behind would encase him in a cold shell that not only numbed his body but also made it difficult to wade his way out of once he heard the noises.

Ben was closest to the stampede, and never got more than a few feet from the cold, coagulated dung heap before being crushed underfoot.

Capitolites walking their dogs would jokingly refer to stepping in dog shit as 'stepping in district ten' for the next week before Benjamin was forgotten.