Seemingly normal things that turned out to be a deadly trap was something that Haymitch, unfortunately had experience with. Thinking back to his own games, he remembered the mountaintop, how so many people and the careers had flocked toward it hoping for safety and in the end, they had all died in an explosion. At the time, there was no love lost for the careers, always so vicious and brutal, but for the tributes who had only been trying to survive, the trick could only be described as evil. Seeing the fog only brought back those memories for Haymitch, and logic told him that this was an ominous sign, and that he and Katniss had to run. It was hard to tell what would happen if they stayed in the swamp any longer, but Haymitch didn't want to find out.

Before Haymitch was able to say what he was thinking, Katniss said it for him and took off in a sprint toward the east. Immediately, he followed behind her, ax in hand and chopping at the tall reeds that got in his way. They swatted at his legs as he ran, each point of contact still managing to sting despite the light-weight fabric covering his body. If a little discomfort was the price to pay for staying alive, then Haymitch was willing to run through the grass for the rest of the day. “Maybe if we,” he panted, “climb those trees.” If the Capitol wanted to kill them, though, Haymitch had no doubts about the fog being able to rise and bend at the will of the Gamemakers.

Looking over his shoulder, the grey mist seemed to be gaining speed and in the distance, someone let out a horrifying scream. They hadn't been alone in the area and now he and Katniss knew that the fog was harmful, possibly even deadly. The scream sounded again and Haymitch forced his body to move faster, his legs burning with each step across the soft, uneven terrain; the trees weren't going to cut it, it would only be a waste of energy. Up ahead, the swampy wetland seemed to be thinning out and transitioning into something drier—Haymitch could only hope that running would be that much easier on solid ground where he didn't have to dodge large puddles of open water and the whirlpools they contained.

The fog seemed to take on a mind of its own and before Haymitch knew it, the mist was at his back. With Katniss a few yards ahead of him, he was the first to feel the harsh sting against the exposed skin of his hand, the searing pain and bubbling of his flesh forcing him to run faster, harder. He gritted his teeth, doing his best not to cry out, not to alert Katniss that something was wrong. “Run faster!” he called to her, but failed to keep himself silent as the fog licked at his hands once more. If this was being broadcast, Haymitch was sure people were expecting him to die.

Apparently, practicing with the knives during training was enough for Prim to be considered some kind of expert. Although she felt confident enough to defend herself, the precision that came along with hitting a target that had the potential to scurry away was something that she lacked. Looking to Gale, the blonde gave him a skeptical expression, one eyebrow quirked and giving off the slightest air of defiance, as if to say: [i]this isn't going to work[/i]. Still, not trying at all seemed rather foolish when there was no guarantee that they would be able to find anything edible later on and so far, the arena felt rather scarce on food while the Capitol had obviously spared no expense on traps and various tortures. 

This was much different from the deer that she had killed by accident in the woods, this was much more deliberate and Prim couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Of course, she knew that food could have been the difference between life and death in the arena, but safety seemed like a more pressing matter. “Yeah, I'm ready,” Prim nodded and looked away from the squirrel sitting idly in the tree and then back to Gale, who was ready with his sword. Slowly, the blonde withdrew one of the knives she had and gripped the handle just to get a feel for the weapon all over again. 

When Gale charged for the squirrel, intending to scare it, the small animal ran down the trunk of the tree with a surprising amount of speed. Slightly unprepared, Prim threw the knife at the animal and missed by a good foot or more. She cursed under her breath and chased after the squirrel, its bushy tail a dead give away for where it was headed and again, she drew another knife and threw it at the animal's body. This time, she caught it by the tail and the squirrel flailed as it was pinned to the ground. Prim frowned, feeling rather sick and sorry for the inhumane way that it was going to die. “Can you...do it?” she asked Gale, not giving him much of a choice before doubled back to gather her last knife.

In the distance, Prim heard a scream and the sound caused her to straight up immediately, now on guard for whatever was to come. It sounded female from the pitch, but Prim wasn't sure until she heard it again—what an agonizing sound. “I don't think we're safe here,” she said, sheathing the knife in her hand. “We really should move on.”

At least they had dinner now.