It's time my friend to run

Cold sweat clung to his skin, a discomfort that was only equalled by the infernal insects that seemed to infest every inch of this marsh. They flew, they buzzed and the worst of them stung. Kaspar had been forced to slather thick mud from the edges of the lake over his arms and legs. He wasn't quite desperate enough to cover his face yet, but it was a close thing.

He'd been running with the career pack since the cornucopia, though he'd been little more than background to the others. Not a good thing to be in a pack of killers who pounced on weakness, so at the first opportunity - the fight at the clay pit - he'd slipped away. He'd been aiming to head back to the river they'd passed, but instead he'd made his way to this little wake that seemed to be well stocked. Seemed being the operative word. It was the Hunger Games. You never knew the true purpose of what you found. So far he hadn't ventured into the water, but he might try his hand at fishing if he got too hungry.

A bug flew right into his ear, the high-pitched whine becoming ridiculously loud in the still night air. He shook his head roughly and leant back against the tree behind him. Both of his axes rested lightly in his hands, but he didn't dare sleep. He was too exposed. Instead he sat there, twitching occasionally as bugs flew too close.

His eyes began to droop as the night marched on, lashes quivering until they brushed his cheeks, only to jerk open once again.

He needed to sleep.

Unfortunately when you were in a competition where the entire purpose was to kill everyone else, you couldn't just fall asleep where you lay. That was an easy way to get yourself a second smile. One positioned on your throat. He'd have to look for cover. Kaspar shifted to look around the lake, his back rasping against the bark.

The bark. Bark that happened to belong to a very handy elm that offered safety for the night. Almost immediately Kaspar was pushing himself to his feet and shoving one of the axes into the sack of supplies on his back. He lodged the axe into the stiff trunk, sending a chip of wood spiraling away. He quickly swarmed up the face of the tree, one hand grasping each branch and testing the strength of it while the other slammed the axe into the tree for a secure handhold. Soon he was nearing the thinner branches that sprung from the head of the elm. He slowed down. It wouldn't do to fall from this height. A broken neck would kill him just as quickly as a tribute's spear. At least the bugs were sparse up here.

Kaspar ached from his night in the tree. It might've been safe but comfortable didn't even come into it. It was like sleeping on a log - oh wait. But at least he wasn't dead. He slithered down the tree, feet easily finding the branches he'd used the previous night. The axe he'd been using to climb was hooked into a loop on his belt, banging gently against his side whenever he made a particularly sudden movement. Which was often.

His feet thumped into the mud and leaves that covered the ground, sending up a waft of fetid air. Kas made a face. He really needed to get out of here. It was hardly pleasant spot number one in the arena. Thankfully most of the bugs had settled in for the day,so he only had to compete with a few dragonflies for airspace. It was almost peaceful, with the morning sun igniting the surface of the lake and sparking off the dew caught in the trees. Funny how you could find beauty in something like the Games.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him exactly why this was called the 'Hunger' Games. Lucky he'd had the forethought to grab a bag of apples at the cornucopia. He wanted to avoid eating anything from the arena for as long as possible. Edible foods had never been his strong point. After scrambling in his sack for a moment, fingers brushing rough hemp, he closed on an apple and brought it to the light. It was another insipid apple, exactly the same as the ones on the train. Nothing that would explode in your mouth with flavor, or bring on memories of home. That was probably a good thing. He needed sustenance, not sentiment.

The lake was proving to be a good place to recuperate after running away from the clay pit fight. He had his apples, two of which had been eaten over the last day. He'd also avoided running into other tributes which was a bonus. He still wasn't quite ready to kill. He might not ever be ready to kill, but he was going to have to if he wanted to win these games.

Night was falling again, practically fallen in fact. Kas made his way over to the now familiar elm tree. It represented safety and a reprieve from the Games. He climbed quickly, reaching his usual branch and tying himself down with the rope. His head rested against the cool bark as he gazed through the leaves and into the black night sky. Only a few stars could be seen. Holes to heaven, his mother had called them. She'd look up at them most nights and tell him that the angels looked through the stars to see your soul and all the bad and good you had in you. She'd said that Sammel was one of those angels.

Kas wasn't sure what he believed. He didn't like the idea of an eternal soul because he was in a competition where you killed children, a black mark against your soul if there ever was one.

Woken up by the light again. This was starting to become routine and routine wasn't good. Routine got you killed. Kas needed to get going, get moving, take advantage of his rested body. Half the other tributes were probably injured, tired, hungry or thirsty. Kaspar was, admittedly, still hungry. A couple of apples wasn't a lot of food. But his Grandpa had been fanatical in his training. He'd been starved for days and his usual meals were only a bowl of soup and a crust of bread anyway. He'd give anything for some of that soup now though.

Kas made his way down to the ground, steadying himself with one hand as he surveyed the lake. The other hand gripped an axe tightly. You never knew when an attack would come and it was better to have needless discomfort now than to be killed later because he didn't have a weapon. He began to prepare to leave, taking one last drink from the lakes and eating a third apple. Only three left now. His sack was starting to feel a little light.

Once everything was stored in the sack and it was strapped to his back he scuffed the ground with his foot, obscuring his tracks. He didn't think there were any expert trackers in the Games but it paid to be careful. An axe in each hand he began to jog away from the lake and into the trees.