You and Haymitch run through the forest, the muffled sound of distant screams falling behind the two of you as you and he head deeper into the arena. The surrounding trees seem to stretch out their branches like claws, and the muddy ground catches your feet with every step. Haymitch, always a little ahead, holds tight to the knife he took from the Cornucopia. The silence weighs heavy between you, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing. The damp smell of earth and foliage mixes with the metallic air of blood that still seems to haunt every corner.

Finally, the two of you emerge into a clearing, which appears calming at first glance, but you feel the underlying threat. Colorful flowers sway in the wind, and just ahead, something small and furry moves in the bushes. A squirrel appears, moving almost curiously, with brown fur and big red eyes. A second later, he advances. Your white teeth shine in the sunlight, and you barely have time to pull Haymitch by the arm, preventing him from taking a fatal leap.

"What the hell is this?" he growls, kicking the squirrel away.

Before you can respond, you realize it's not just one. At least a dozen of them emerge from the trees, their fangs bared and their paws nimble. Haymitch is already moving, pulling you with him as the two of you run across the clearing, narrowly escaping more attacks. Your feet trip over the exposed roots and you almost fall when suddenly something even worse appears.

Butterflies. They float gracefully through the air, their translucent bodies reflecting the light, but each carries a deadly stinger that lengthens as they approach. One of them lands on Haymitch's shoulder, and you see the ominous glow in the air.

"Don't move!" you say, your voice almost panicked, and before he can respond, you snatch the butterfly away with one swift movement, crushing it in the palm of your hand.

“What kind of arena is this?” Haymitch mutters, rubbing his shoulder where the stinger left a bloody mark.