If the contents of my backpack are clues, what are they revealing? Why would all of my food and drink be easy pickings in the arena, unless . . . I take in the rabbit carcass across the stream . . . unless they aren’t. Unless every mouthful is precious, because their counterparts are poisonous. The minute I conceive of this possibility, I know it’s true. That the luscious apples on the boughs over my head are as deadly as the crystal water. And if that is true, what other food and drink in here will kill you? Everything, probably. It isn’t safe to sample anything that didn’t come from the
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