He soon learned to not fear the stick as she held it away from him, offering her a much more casual posture along with an incredibly genuine smile. "Heart," he said, no cockiness to his deep voice but a rather neutral tone, taking his bow and placing it over his head so the cord rested across his chest and shoulder, having no need of it anymore in such close quarters with another person.
He then plucked the arrow from the pliable ground, holding the rabbit on his shoulder as he wiped the dirt off the arrowhead onto its fur—not wanting to have the mess on his own—before placing it deftly into the quiver on his back. He then stood and looked at her, running a hand along the rabbit upon his shoulder in perhaps a nervous gesture though his face did not betray any anxieties he might be facing in front of this stranger.
Finally after a small silence his hand stilled and an elongated ear flicked forward as the other flicked back in a quirky manner. "Hrafn is my name," he introduced, speaking oddly yet with no remarkable accent, just misuse of a language from not enough practice, his hand coming up to brush a piece of his dark, wavy hair back in place. "Your name?"