He can't see anything but grass. When he stands on tip-toes, right before the countdown finishes, he can make out some faces in the tops of the grass, can see the tips of the weeds arching just a little bit above his head. He can see the edge of the Cornucopia glittering copper not far from him, and near that, a flash of familiar bronzed hair, eyes that haunt him in his sleep, and-

The gong goes off, but it's nothing like the sound of panic ringing in Howard's ears. Aunamee's back, Aunamee's back.

He runs as fast as he can in the opposite direction, getting turned around in the tall grass. He nearly crashes into someone, dodges and stumbles in the plants, feels mud slide under his feet. He feels something under his hand and grabs it, yelping with delight when he realizes it's a serrated knife.

Good. At least he's armed. He gets up and keeps running, blinded and directionless in the field.