Maggie Greene and Finnick
In Maggie's mind, no way could a tradition like that last more than a single year without causing rebellion after rebellion to bring it to an end, but there were probably a lot of factors she didn't understand about the situation.
Like how the hell something like that existed for seventy-five years when the world only ended less than five years ago... He wasn't from another country- he spoke English just as well as she did, with no real discernible accent. Then there was the whole 'district' and 'capitol' talk. And he didn't know about the dead...
It didn't make any sense.
"Three years ago, the dead started comin' back to life," she explained, feeling more than awkward while doing so- like she was explaining that water was wet, or fire was hot. It was just an inescapable fact of reality that he (and apparently an entire society) somehow missed. "'Cept it ain't 'life'. It's just...animation. They're still rotting, but they see and smell and walk- they don't breathe or sleep or need water. All they do is eat everythin' that's still alive."
In fact, while Finn was watching the dunes for a possible ambush, Maggie was tuned to the smells in the air. In the heat and humidity, you smelled the dead before you saw them, most of the time. Especially when they were in herds. There was no mistaking the smell of decay and death, and old blood.
"It ain't exactly somethin' I figure anybody could miss," she brought the point home, looking over at him as they walked. "Kinda like eight decades of child sacrifice... which I sure as hell ain't never heard of."