Tim sits - okay, he practically drops to the ground. He pulls his knees up, cradling his arm on his stomach, and starts digging through the bag, neatly lining up the contents beside him. He takes his time with each item - if this is what the Capitol calls a feast, there has to be something to learn from it.

He finds the two cans of food first, heavy and large. The labels are in English, but that's not a surprise. The announcement was in English as well. The first can he withdraws from the bag is a stew; the picture on the label makes it look hearty. The second one is canned pineapple, which is so light and sugary and frivolous that he wonders if they'd prefer Tributes dropping dead of exhaustion.

A flint. Oh, thank God. That'll make having a fire faster. "Steph, there's a flint. Don't bother trying to find twigs."

A small vial of some liquid, with a dropper in its lid. Tim holds it a few inches below his nose. It doesn't smell like a poison, but a lot of them, like nicotine, are odorless. He sets it aside for now.

The rope comes out last, its bulk had pulled it to the bottom of the pack. Tangled in its coils is a butterfly knife. Tim grabs it immediately, flipping it open and spinning it around his fingers. There's a nice weight to it, and Tim throws it upward, catching it so that it closes simultaneously. "And a knife for you."