Who| Altaïr ibn La-Ahad &: Haruto Soma wizardplease, and possibly you!
What| Stalking in the village. Trying to catch a horse.
Where| Village. Open fields.
When| Jun 01 - Jun 07ish?
Warnings/Notes| Mention of assassination because he's an assassin lmao; other people wanting to eat the horses instead of ride them

A: Jun 01 - 02 near the blacksmith's

Altaïr didn't know what to make of the little package that incessantly followed him around with an annoying ping. Finally he grabbed it in the hopes of keeping his location quiet. Four days' worth of food and water, a physician's kit, a magazine, a small folding knife. Now he could hunt animals to eat, and people to kill (if he spotted anyone playing into the Capitol's grim game and making a murderous ruckus). The first-aid items mystified him, but the instructions on the packaging should be able to help, he hoped.

Now he was in business. No more of this skulking around. He had seen some very strange things at the Cornucopia, so he'd have to watch out for those, but few could rival him in quick thinking and hand-to-hand combat. At least, that's what he assumed. So long without a thing to defend himself with, he was now putting a lot of stock in his single small knife.

He stalked the blacksmith's now, wondering if there might be tools in there he could use, though a cynical part of him knew every inch of this arena was designed and rigged. He was expected to do certain things, like a pawn in a game of shatranj, playing fetch like some damn dog. That rankled him. He hovered near one of the windows, the sill half worn away, and glared into the darkness within.

B: June 02 - 07ish? open fields

As he circled around the fields, the sound of hoofs caught his attention. He never thought he would hear horses again in a land where everyone traveled by car. He must have one. He was good with horses back home, but admittedly he had never caught a wild one. He would not be deterred. He would woo one with the patience of a benign horse-loving stalker, and then he could traverse the entire arena without having to worry about exhaustion.

They couldn't run forever. Carrying fruits he'd gathered in the forest, he tracked them to an open space where they stopped to graze. First thing he had to do was assure them he wasn't a threat. He settled in the grass where they could see him. Their heads lifted apprehensively, but he was too far to do anything about. Every once in a while, he'd edge closer, biting into a berry and spreading its juice on a rock so they could smell it. At the end of the first day, he left a pile of the rest for them.

The second day he did the same, inching closer and closer. He knew being in the open was dangerous, with wolves and Tributes about, but he trusted the horses to know when threats to them or himself neared. Now he just hoped nothing would spook them and thwart his riding plans....