Rye stopped in his tracks at the roiling smoke and the slightly nauseating stench of burning flesh. The black smoke billowed over the tree tops. He could hear a bellowing but couldn't quite make out the words. Shrugging, Rye guessed that Stark wasn't too pleased with the note or sharing the supplies. The trees offer perfect cover and the branches were thickly inter woven. Wanting to see what was happening at the Cornucopia,Rye jumped, catching the trunk. Using his hands and feet, he managed to scale the tree, snagging a sturdy branch impossibly high up. He hung his back pack on a limb and then secured his footing.<br/><br/>Making his way back to the fire, Rye carefully observed the group organizing for the evening.Stark appeared to be in charge and the others seemed respectfully wary of him. Rye wished he had a bow and arrows. From this hidden vantage point, he could have taken out the group and finished this madness. The heat from the pyre reached him, even perched high out of sight and Rye shook his head. Of course, there had been several tributes who had died and the Capitol had not been vigilant about taking their corpses out. This indignity was just another chink in their armor.<br/><br/>Four tributes, himself and maybe Eden, if he had survived. They were whittling down the participants. Shaking his head once more, Rye backed quietly from  tree to tree, snagged his back pack and continued traveling through the tree tops to the far edge where the meadow started. Rye scanned the area, found it to be devoid of human life and dropped to the ground. Making his way back to the mountain, he found an over hang behind some brush and backed inside. Hunkering down, Rye opened his pack and found a wedge of cheese from the supplies he had garnered. A good thing, too. He couldn't afford to build a fire. His broad shoulders sagged and exhaustion overtook him.