If there was one thing Sylvia knew from watching the Games every year back at home, was that fear killed as much as any weapon. She wasn't the best physical type, and while she was able to hog the weapons before others could, she knew she had to play it smart. She had to create the illusion of death, and impersonate it, much more than simply paint her face with the blood of her enemies. She had to incarnate the tribute's worst fears. The mutts.
Ripping a piece of bark from a nearby tree, she carved it rudely into a tribal mask, which she strapped in with pieces of her shirt, ripped from the lower half, revealing her belly which she covered with mud, in tiger-like stripes. She put the few berries and roots she hat collected in pockets. Knifes were strapped all around her waist, as was the ninjato, pending from her left side. The lance she held in her hand, a tribal demoness and her infernal fork.
Time to hunt.
She knew the 5 leveled Phy was in sector 8. It was no point forcing her way into his side when she could let him kill some of the other tributes, letting some off her plate. So she stepped on, closer to the forest line that encloses the beach, moving downwards towards the 4th sector, scouting.