Out of all the games that he had watched in his life, and the one that he had participated in himself, Haymitch had never seen anything like this mist before. The Gamemakers were always coming up with something new: clever traps disguised as everyday objects, normally docile animals that turned out to be deadly, patches of serene landscape that swallowed a person whole—but this mist was different. The chemicals used to create the rapidly advancing cloud had no smell, nothing to give away its position but the injuries that it left in its wake could possibly be deadly. The Games had just started, and Haymitch didn't want to die on the first day, or any of the following, but he had trained too hard and given up too much to be taken down by a smokey haze. 

When Katniss grabbed his hand to pull him along, Haymitch cried out again and tugged his hand back. The skin there was already blistered and painful, and the pain of having his hand crushed between another was almost more painful than the initial burns. Still, the extra pain spurred him on and he and Katniss crossed over from the wetlands and onto drier ground. Haymitch fell to his knees at the edge of the area, breathing heavy as the palms of his hands rested on the dry dirt. He expected to be overtaken by the fog, to have his senses overload from pain while Plutarch and his men readied a cannon for him—but the mist didn't come. Haymitch looked over his shoulder, still breathing heavily, and saw the mist hang there in the air. The traps were kept separate and now that they were in a new area, Haymitch had no idea what fresh hell awaited them.

Next to him, Katniss had rolled into a sitting position after asking if he was okay. It was a stupid question, although one that was only meant to be polite but it took every ounce of patience that Haymitch had left in order to avoid snapping at her. However, he did eye her for a moment, silent as ever before she tried again. Running had taken a lot out of him, and it was one of the first times that Haymitch realized just how old he'd gotten. Twenty years ago, a run like that wouldn't have left him gasping for breath, but now, he was going to need more than a few minutes to recover. Out in the open, stuck straddling kill zones, that wasn't good.

“I don't know what that was,” he finally said, a little less winded as he moved from his knees to sit down and inspect his hands. The blisters were pale in color, very different from burns from a fire but already swollen and hideous. With one finger, Haymitch reached out and poked one of the bumps, only to be met with more pain as the firm flesh dimpled beneath his touch. As requested, he held his hand out to Katniss, wondering if there was anything that either of them could do. Peeta was out there somewhere, and Haymitch only hoped that the sponsors felt bad enough to send him a gift.

Looking at Katniss as she looked over his hands, Haymitch swore quietly. “We have to keep moving,” he stressed, trying to look around over the wheat-like grasses surrounding them. There was no telling what could be hiding all around them.

In the arena, staying in one place for too long was a good way to get killed—Haymitch had taught her that early on and Prim believed him now. She and Gale had only been hunting by this cluster of trees for twenty or so minutes when a cadence of screams interrupted the joy of having food for the night. The blonde girl looked around the area, squinting past the hazy glow of the sun through the clouds to try and catch a glimpse of whatever was scaring people. Of course, the thing that worried her the most wasn't the Capitol's tricks, but rather, the fact that she and Gale hadn't been alone. Although the arena was large and vast, other tributes had been within striking distance of them and put Prim off of stopping to hunt anytime soon.

“We can still see the mountains,” Prim responded with a nod, hoping to keep moving and put those screams behind them. Together, the two began to jog but when Gale paused to investigate a rather out of place fog that was coming their way, Prim backed up. “Gale, come on,” she urged, holding her hand out to him. Nothing was ever as it seemed in the arena—that was something else that Haymitch had taught her and the blonde was inclined to believe that as well. “Don't mess with it,” she added warily as he laughed. However, as the shimmering fog began to descend on them, Gale was hit with the worst of it. Running was about the only thing that they could do, but the mist had started to close in on them and going through it wasn't an option. Reaching for his hand, Prim pulled Gale along with her as she ran back toward the town at the center of the arena. There had to be places to hide there, something to take shelter in and hopefully, the careers had gone out to hunt the other tributes.