❥ Basil Horace was a man in his late fifties who had lived in the woods as a wanderer for his entire life. Now at fifty-seven years of age, the man had yet to see the Hunger Games, and still did not want to. He didn't know, nor did he care who the tributes were for this year's games, as it was something completely irrelevant to him.
People who had once lived in the districts would often try to tell him stories of the Hunger Games they had been forced to watch. Children being forced to murder one another was not something this particular man wanted to see or hear about, and therefore, he chose to ignore those that tried to explain it to him or tell him stories. Despite being generally open minded, the Hunger Games were one thing he knew he would never adapt to.
When Basil awoke, he had been lying in a cave as he sometimes did. The sunlight had shone harshly into the cave and through his thin eyelids, awakening him from his deep slumber he had surprisingly been able to be in on such a cold and snowy night. Since the older man had lived in the woods for the entirety of his life, he was used to the cold of the winter. He had to sleep through the snow and cold every year of his life at some point. It was a wonderful thing that he had adapted to it by now, or it was likely he would have gotten frostbite at some time in his life.
Standing up only to the point where the man about six feet tall could in the short cave, he ducked until he was able to walk all the way out of the cave. He had his one bag of items that he owned tucked under his left arm as he vacated the cave, stepping out into the frigid morning air. He could see his breath, but barely felt the cold himself. Walking for about twenty minutes in silence, the man knew exactly where he was going, due to having ventured around in these woods for so many years. Meandering through the trees, he eventually arrived at a rather small clearing in the trees. From what he could see, there was no one there. He decided to lean up against a large birch tree, and set his bag on the snow beside him as he stood there. Removing a book from the bag, he began to read.
Basil was reading for a while, before he heard someone coming. Always cautious, he hoped it wasn't a Peacekeeper. He picked up his bag, returning his book to it, having slipped a small, very dried out leaf between the pages of the book where he left off, as he always did. He closed his bag, and went into the trees, cautiously, still looking out and observing what the noise had been. Then he noticed that it was simply another person like him, a wanderer, doing what they do. Wandering.