"No, you've been getting played." John Rambo replies, hand wrapped around the barrel and shoving it skyward as she spins around, making sure it not, in fact, pointed at him. He's dressed in muted colors, a longbow slung across his back along with a quiver, and the way he sits in the brush like he was born in it makes it quite clear: the twig that ruined her shot was intentional.

"You don't know who these woods belong to, and it's gonna get you killed." he admonishes quietly, even gently, carefully swinging the barrel of the shotgun further away. "You wanna hunt here? You can't do it like this, especially when you're such an easy mark."

He pauses, glancing just past her and deeper into the woods, not far from where his place of worship is.

"I also don't want to get a head full of buckshot while I'm fucking eating--come with me, be smart, and I'll show you how to get that buck back in far less time."