With his longbow he could shoot fairly far distances, which was good in a hunt, but that always meant a bit of a trek when retrieving prey. Hrafn set off at a trot, bow in hand as he followed the edge of the wood, oblivious as of yet to anyone who might be nearby, caught off guard by the easy meal.
After a minute or two of jogging he made it to his catch, crouching down with a grin and holding the rabbit against the damp earth, before swiftly retrieving his arrow and thrusting it in the ground to clean off the blood. It was then as he lifted the rabbit by its ears, his tall frame crouched to the ground, that his icy eyes spotted her. He had lain his bow to the side when he had retrieved the rabbit but now he picked it up as he straightened out, though made no move to grab the arrow and notch it.
Instead the brown agouti hybrid stood with ears at attention, eyes flickering to the stick she held then back to her darkly framed, chartreuse eyes. Hrafn had never been eloquent in the ways of speaking--having spent a year with his silent uncle and six months on his own in travel--so instead of parting his lips to expose his gruff voice he nodded his head towards the woman, slinging his catch onto his shoulder so one of his hands might be free in case their meeting somehow went afoul.