The woods stretch endlessly around you, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Birds flit between the branches, their calls piercing the quiet, but you hear nothing else—no rustling of prey, no movement to signal a catch. Katniss stands beside you, her bow slung over her shoulder, watching as you fumble with the one she’s loaned you.

“You’re gripping too tight,” she mutters, stepping behind you. Her hands, calloused from years of hunting, settle over yours, easing the tension in your fingers. “Loosen up. You’re not trying to strangle it.”

You roll your eyes but obey, adjusting your stance. “Not my fault I didn’t grow up with a bow in my hands.”

Katniss chuckles, a gravely sound. “No, but you want to learn, don’t you?” She shifts closer, tilting her head toward the clearing ahead. “See that rabbit trail?” Shee nods toward the barely visible path winding through the underbrush. “They come through here in the mornings. If you can hit one, you’ll have meat to sell—or keep, if things get bad.”

They’re always bad in District 12, but you don’t say that. Instead, you exhale slowly, raising the bow. The string is stiff beneath your fingers, but Katniss’s hands remain on yours, guiding you. “Breathe in,” she instructs. “Hold steady. Now breathe out and—”

You release. The arrow flies—too high, too fast—and embeds itself uselessly in the trunk of a tree.

Katniss sighs, shaking her head. “At this rate, you’ll be selling firewood, not meat.”