While Kili could never imagine being claustrophobic himself― dwarves were built to survive in the mountains, flourished inside stone and dark― he does at least try to sympathize. He had a wanderlust that could hardly be tamed most days, loved the warmth of the sun on his skin more than the brightest gems the Blue Mountains could offer. There had been talk of him being more elf than dwarf when he was younger, picking up a bow rather than an axe, climbing trees like some kind of tree rat, and even more recently as his beard refused to come in despite his age.

This place felt like the deeper places in the mountain, the darker places the young dwarf refused to go to, where the only light came from torches, where if one fell there would be no hope to survive. It reminds him of tales of Khazad-dûm, where out from the darkness of the mountain Durin’s Bane rose and slew not one dwarven king but two.

He can, at least, agree that this place is filled with a darkness that clung to every step, leaving bloody footprints as his very soul seemed affected. More than anything, he’s not surprised that Hawkeye doesn’t seem comfortable with it or the jerkin.

“I arrived not two days before this,” he replies as he moves along to another diorama, reaching out to feel the different textures of clothing and armor alike. “Most who I found spoke of this place in whispers. Venus felt differently.”

And now he feels a touch sheepish at assuming the Arena could just be one big joke, that he had already made plans to hit up the finest tavern in the Capitol as soon as he was finished.

“Now that I’m in here...” Kili pauses, his brows furrowing in the dark. “I don’t think you should go back to the cornucopia. That's no battle you can win.”