Learned she long ago not to trust a book
                by its cover —— though the visage of the
                man before her may have appeared
                friendly, the Argent knew better. Friendly
                people didn’t carry weapons and so her
                grip remained, arrowhead locked in aim
                towards his fragile skull.

                                                 ❝Drop your weapon.❞ 

           he doesn’t have enough time to get the upper hand and disarm the stranger who seemingly snuck up on him in the midst of his hunting expedition. alas, she appears harmless enough — although the arrow targeting his head begs to differ.

              there are no words emerging from his lips as he complies, lowering his shotgun and raising a pair of bloodied hands into the open air.

                         ’ who even are you? ’

                                    possibly another hunter.
                                    or so he hopes. 

                                              but  don’t  think  for  even  a   minute  that  the  rest  of  his  body  isn’t
                                              laced  with     various     guns    and    knives    and    mobile   weaponry.
                                              & that if need be, he can grasp such before her arrow absconds the bow.