She heard the approaching duo before she saw them. The crunch of old leaves under heavy feet snapped her out of her exhaustion, and she stared ahead with a near-animalistic intensity. As her mentor had taught her, she let her eyes unfocus, watching for movement rather than any distinct forms. In places like this forest, where visibility was often restricted, it was a useful trick for finding enemies hidden away.<br/><br/>At first, she had wondered if it was only an animal passing through, but the tread seemed to indicate two legs, not four. Still keeping her gaze forward, she stretched a hand towards her bow, the motion slow and deliberate. She was almost certainly being watched, and while for once, her intent wasn't to get into a fight, she wanted whoever or whatever was out there to know that she wasn't oblivious.<br/><br/>A flicker of crimson caught her eye, and her gaze snapped to the side as a pair of burly orcs stepped out of cover. "Hell..." she hissed quietly to herself, scooping up her bow and rising to her feet as they approached. Out of habit, the weapon was hoisted for a moment as if in preparation to fire, but then she seemed to hesitate, a brief glimmer of uncertainty crossing her face as she wrestled with her own muscle memory. Carefully, the crossbow tip was lowered so that it pointed at the ground before their feet--harmless now, but a slight warning not to come any closer.<br/><br/>"I'm not looking for trouble," she said, her tone low and even. In the back of her mind, she doubted they spoke much of the common tongue, but she was trying to put forth an air of nonaggression and hoped that a quiet voice would at least help get the message across. Orcs were one of the few species of monster with their own language and culture--they were not mere beasts, and this could make them all the more dangerous. She found herself wishing now that she had paid more attention when Ignatius taught her what little the Hunter's Corps knew of the orcish language. "I'm trying to find my...my<i>lug</i>?" She didn't know their word for mentor or teacher, so "friend" would have to do. Racking her brains, she glanced downward briefly as she tried to recall what little she knew of the tongue. "He's--um--<i>jet orgadak</i>." If he truly had passed this way, then maybe "old man" would ring a bell. Ignatius was almost sixty-five, his hair and beard long since greyed. Age had given him skill and experience, but it had also served to weaken his body, and she had worried that it would eventually be his downfall. Pushing away that awful thought, she tapped a finger against the insignia sewn onto the left side of her jerkin, above her heart. Stitched in silver thread was a stooping hawk--the symbol of the Hunter Corps. "<i>Dok's a Konkor</i>, like me." Ignatius's clothing had borne the same mark, along with additional embroidering that denoted his distinguished rank within the group. In comparison, Liirah's jerkin was relatively plain, with the exception of a white band stitched onto each shoulder that marked her as an apprentice hunter.<br/><br/>Focused on the two before her, it hadn't yet occurred to her that they were merely a diversion for the third coming up behind, something Ignatius would surely have berated her for had he still been alive. Many of the creatures they fought were dangerously crafty, although orcs were not generally among them. They were more the type to rush head-on, as the two men had done. And yet the fact that they had approached relatively calmly, rather than charge in bellowing and swinging their weapons, should have been her first clue that something was amiss.