Emery took the hard bread Rye offered and listened to him as she scraped crumbs off of the bread with her teeth. When he mentioned Dyson, she nodded, vaguely remembering the tribute who was torn apart by the mutts. The Gamemaster had mentioned before that Day Z was in a romantic relationship with a tribute and was trying to get to that tribute's brother, which would be Rye.<span style="font-style: italic">Could very well be a lie</span>, she reminded herself. There were times that Rye's words of Day Z were biting, but others indicated respect as well.<br/><br/>Her eyes shot up once she heard the loud crack of the stone hitting the wall. She stared at Rye with a furrowed brow as he lamented about Day Z's vulnerability.<span style="font-style: italic">Contempt, respect, and compassion</span>, she thought, listing how Rye felt about Day Z. Evidently, she was also dead. As she gazed, Emery could see bitterness and hurt laced in Rye's hard expression. Looking down, she sighed and murmured, "They give no thought to one's chances of survival. It's social Darwinism at its finest."<br/><br/>When Rye suggested an alliance, she glanced at him and returned her eyes to the ground. Back at home, the adolescents were always encouraged to join other tributes so they would have people to depend on. However, from the dozens of Games she's watched, Emery noted that having allies was grossly overrated and dangerous. Albeit alliances prolong survival more than being alone, they often crumble from betrayal, suspicion, and abandonment. Even if they endure while all others die, they will be forced to kill each other in the end anyhow. On account of these reasons, she always told herself to never join a group if she were to be in the Games.<br/><br/>Emery looked back at Rye and considered the other hand of the matter. He probably wouldn't admit it, but she could tell Rye was suffering from the loss of his allies. He seemed very lonely.<span style="font-style: italic">I don't know if I could make it on my own either</span>, she thought. Supplies and tributes to scavenge from were gradually dwindling. From the way Rye spoke of his fallen friends, she could safely assume he was loyal. He was also aggressive, but justifiably (at least in her case).<span style="font-style: italic">He's very capable of killing me</span>, she reminded herself,<span style="font-style: italic">but that wouldn't matter if I've already died from starvation. Either way could be the death of me.</span>She put her fingers to her tired eyes.<br/><br/>After a long moment of silent deliberation, Emery looked at Rye again and said, "I'm not entirely sure." She finished off the last bite of her bread and got to her feet. Approaching the cave opening, she took out a canteen and held it under a stream of water from the falls. It beat against her hand, so she had to grip the canteen firmly so it wouldn't slip out. Once it was full, she took a swig from it as she walked back. "It really depends on what you're going to do," she said, wiping the wet canteen over her forehead. "How do you plan to survive?"