The feel of fingers entwining in her hair is nice (more than nice), though they've only been parted a short time from her point of view. It's a reminder there is still hope even in the darkest of places. She walks her fingers up the curve of his chin and lets them rest against his lips, both a signal for quiet and just to feel his breath warming her skin.

"Balance suggests a compromise." Her voice is just as low, stern though tinged with affection. "There is little I am willing to cede here, neither for myself, or ... other captives."

Not that their fellow tributes may be willing to extend the same courtesy. She recalls the rush toward the supplies, and how casual some were in taking down competitors before she reached the park. A shiver works its way down her spine, and Arwen releases his face to rub her arms in hopes of generating some warmth. Being cold is a new sensation for her.