Brendan Hankson's P.O.V. (D2)

"Welcome to the pre-Games training," the Head Trainer says from his platform, "Today, you will have all day to train, whereas tomorrow, you may only train until noon. At noon tomorrow, you are to leave the Training Center and wait for the individual assessments to begin. For now, You're all going to focus  mainly on training today. My suggestion for you all is that you shouldn't completely work on you're combat skills. The survival stations are there for a reason, and don't just pretend that you didn't notice them. One last thing, fighting with other tributes during training is strictly forbidden. Save any anger you have against other tributes for the arena. Good luck."

I turn to my allies and snort, "That guy's an idiot. Fighting is definitely the more important thing to know when you're going into the arena."

"Yeah, he has no idea what he's talking about," Liam agrees, "It's not like he's actually been in the Games before."

"Yeah. So what stations are we starting at?" Tai says.

"Me and Liam are going to the sword station. It's our speciality," I say.

"I'm gonna go whack the heads off some dummies," Damon says, walking off towards the mace and club sections.

"I'll go with you guys to the sword station," Bryce says.

"See you. I'm doing tridents and spears," Tai says as he walks away.

I look at Liam, "Do you think we did the right thing inviting him into our alliance?"

He shrugs, "If it comes down to it, we'll get rid of him. Problem solved. Don't worry about it, Brendan, he's a volunteer."

I nod and follow him and Bryce across the training hall.

Eric Polt's P.O.V. (D5)

I smile as I approach the axe station. There is such a huge selection. There are big axes, small ones, throwing-axes, hatchets, etc.

I pick one with a wooden handle. It's quite heavy. It would hurt awfully bad if someone got one swing from this.

"Dude, look out!" someone shouts from behind me.

I almost involuntarily duck just in time to avoid being decapitated by an axe. The axe spins through the air, over my head, and buries itself in the head of a dummy at the other end of the room.

I turn around and see Mason Paits from District Seven standing there, cringing.

"Are you okay? That could've been really messy," he apologizes, "I guess I should've looked up before I threw it."

I look at the axe in the dummy, then turn back to Mason, "You threw that perfect shot without looking?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, well I sorta glanced at it."

"Nice, do you think you could show me some things? It could be payback for almost chopping my head off."

"Hey! It was mostly your fault for walking in the way. Plus, I didn't have to warn you."

I shake my head, "Alright, it's ok if you don't want to show me anything."

"No, I will. I was just messing around with you."

"Thanks."

"Ok so, how much do you know about fighting with axes?" he asks.

"Not a lot. I know basic stances and I can throw pretty good."

Mason walks over to the axe-rack and picks out a different one than the one I have. Then he walks over to me with it.

"How about you give throwing a try?" he says, handing me a smaller axe than the one in my hands.

"What's the difference if I use this one or the other axe?" I ask.

"A lot. Notice the weight difference? The one I just gave you has way more balance and it's lighter. Really good for throwing."

I nod, acting like I already knew exactly what he said, "Right."

"Ok, so take your stance, and draw the axe behind your shoulder."

I did the steps he told me.

"Make sure you're hand is positioned on the lower part of the handle. Keep your eye on the target. Now, with all the strength you can muster, swing your arm forward and release."

When Mason finishes talking, I swing my axe over my head with an incredible force. Then, when I feel that it is the right time, I release the handle. The axe spins through the air and I can hear Mason try to stifle a laugh as it hits the wall beside the target and clangs to the ground.

"You'll get there, mate," Mason says, patting me on the shoulder.

Vance Blue's P.O.V. (D5)

I pull back the drawstring of a beautiful wooden bow until I feel the tickling of the feather on my cheek. I find a target at the end of the room, and point my bow directly at it. I position the bow so that it is slightly over the bullseye. When I feel confident that I have done everything correctly, I take a deep breath and release. A split second later, I find that the arrow has met the center of the bullseye with a satisfying thud.

"Not bad," Nathan says beside me.

I watch him sling an arrow-pack over his shoulder and take a position in front of another target. A second later, his hand flys to the quiver and fetches an arrow. He notches it into his string and fires immediately. It soars through the air and hits the bullseye.

My jaw drops, "Wow, you barely even aimed."

Nathan says nothing and moves to the next target. He takes out another arrow and does the same thing. Then he starts walking along the row of targets, firing at each one as he passes. Every single arrow hits a perfect bullseye.

When he runs out of arrows, he turns to me with a wide grin.

"Since when could you shoot that good?" I ask in amazement.

"I've always had a lot I fun throwing darts back home. This is a little different though."

"I'm just glad you're my ally. I wouldn't wanna be anywhere in you're sights if you have a bow."

"Oh I'll have a bow alright. I'm not leaving the Bloodbath without one."

"You'll need it."

"You should get one too, you know," he says, placing his bow and quiver back on the rack, "You're pretty good."