Light catches on tiny scales as the fist dart out of the bucket, scattering for the shelter of plants, rocks, who-knows-what submerged objects that might be a little further out. It reminds him for a moment of watching tiny schools of fish too small for anything but delighting a child glinting in the rockpools of home. It brings with it a faint pang of something like homesickness. Not for Panem as such, but for Four.

It's only fleeting, though, because he knows how much he's gained by being brought here. And if he can raise and release fish to get by instead of living off his victor's winnings, that's fine in a way he'd never have thought it could be.

"Let's give them the rest of their friends, hey?" he says, crouching again by one of the other buckets and shaking off the thoughts of Panem.