; and the pines are intermixed with a variety of trees; some I recognize; some pletely foreign to me。 At one point; I hear a noise and pull my knife; thinking I may have to defend myself; but Iˇve only startled a rabbit。 ¨Good to see you;〃 I whisper。 If thereˇs one rabbit; there could be hundreds just waiting to be snared。

The ground slopes down。 I donˇt particularly like this。 Valleys make me feel trapped。 I want to be high; like in the hills around District 12; where I can see my enemies approaching。 But I have no choice but to keep going。

Funny though; I donˇt feel too bad。 The days of gorging myself have paid off。 Iˇve got staying power even though Iˇm short on sleep。 Being in the woods is rejuvenating。 Iˇm glad for the solitude; even though itˇs an illusion; because Iˇm probably on…screen right now。 Not consistently but off and on。 There are so many deaths to show the first day that a tribute trekking through the woods isnˇt much to look at。 But theyˇll show me enough to let people know Iˇm alive; uninjured and on the move。 One of the heaviest days of betting is the opening; when the initial casualties e in。 But that canˇt pare to what happens as the field shrinks to a handful of players。

Itˇs late afternoon when I begin to hear the cannons。 Each shot represents a dead tribute。 The fighting must have finally stopped at the Cornucopia。 They never collect the bloodbath bodies until the killers have dispersed。 On the opening day; they donˇt even fire th