Finnick didn't know Peeta well yet, but he knew enough victors to suspect that Peeta would understand, at least. The victors bore with them the aftereffects of what they'd done in the arena to survive; he didn't know of any of them who didn't, no matter how well some of them tried to hide it.

In some ways, it was a small relief that someone understood that way of reacting to something unexpected, a potential threat; he'd spent so long with these people dismissing or showing open skepticism about his suspicions that he no longer expected anyone else to seem to take them something like seriously.

"Something smells like the sea," he said, pausing his study of the fields in front of him long enough to glance sidelong at Peeta. "Salt water and hot sand and a little raw fish," he added, because he wasn't sure if Peeta would have ever registered just what that smell was in the brief stop in Four on the Victory Tour. "Can you smell it?"