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er if they think heˇs covering me when I go in for the backpack。
But where is it？ The arena has lightened enough for me to remove my glasses。 I can hear the morning birds singing。 Isnˇt it time？ For a second； Iˇm panicked that Iˇm at the wrong location。 But no； Iˇm certain I remember Claudius Templesmith specifying the Cornucopia。 And there it is。 And here I am。 So whereˇs my feast？
Just as the first ray of sun glints off the gold Cornucopia； thereˇs a disturbance on the plain。 The ground before the mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rises into the arena。 On the table sit four backpacks； two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11； a medium…size green one with the number 5； and a tiny orange one � really I could carry it around my wrist � that must be marked with a 12。
The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia； snags the green backpack； and speeds off。 Foxface！ Leave it to her to e up with such a clever and risky idea！ The rest of us are still poised around the plain； sizing up the situation； and sheˇs got hers。 Sheˇs got us trapped； too； because no one wants to chase her down； not while their own pack sits so vulnerable on the table。 Foxface must have purposefully left the other packs alone； knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer。 That should have been my strategy！ By the lime Iˇve worked through the emotions of surprise； admirat
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