Letting out a quiet huff of a laugh, Finnick takes one of the vines from Jason's hands and tugs, testing its strength and resistance before dropping one end and working a quick knot into the other.

His smile wavers a little as he focuses on the movement of his fingers and not the memories that suddenly want to clamor to the front of his mind. "I threw what I had," he says, pulling the loose end of the vine through his hand and dropping the looped end to the ground. It's a simple noose, meant to ensnare any wayward foot. "This won't hold much," he says, nodding at the vine. "Good at catching game, though."

'And the smaller kids,' he doesn't say, pushing the vile thought into the back of his mind.