The hooded woman immediately straightened when the sound of boots breaking the fresh snow came from the top of the hill, and from the depths of the hood she observed the source; a group of men. All that she could see were clearly armed, but their weapons held in relaxed, non-threatening poses. Of course, who knew how many had yet to crest that hill? There could be an army. Thankfully, she didn't really care. Her gaze sharpened at the man who spoke. She couldn't see much of his face from her angle on the hill, but from what she could tell his boots and coat were military-grade gear. Though his bulk was concealed beneath the heavy clothing, she could tell even from this angle that he was not very tall for an adult, and his body posture belied a sort of confidence. Whether affected or honest was impossible to tell. The men on either side of him waved as well, their own weapons held in the same nonchalant manner as the leader's.<br/><br/>Liliana hesitated before speaking. She was not unfamiliar with the gangs of roving bandits around the area, though it would be odd for any of them to have come from north of the harvester's campsite. She raised her hand and gave a small wave, her own dropped shoulders and loose posture more akin to someone who had just woken up rather than someone that had been traveling in the cold since the small hours of the morning. "We... are not," she finally said in response to his question, her voice husky from disuse and monotone as always, lilting with a slight Polish accent. She spoke louder in hopes that it would carry to the top of the hill. "We only camp here - "<br/><br/>"We're harvesters from Moscow," echoed a voice to her immediate left. One of the men had approached from the worksite, his axe hefted lazily over his shoulder, dripping with a deep red goop that was eerily reminiscent to blood. His thick armor on the rest of his body had various splashes of the same liquid, mostly on his chest and arms. The man looked as though he had just committed a few murders rather than scrape some bark off an old tree. He removed his helmet and tinted face shield, revealing an older man with spikey grey hair and heavy bags under his eyes. A small firearm sat holstered on his upper left leg. "Do you hunt in these woods?" he asked, taking a step toward the strangers.<br/><br/>Liliana glanced behind, where the other harvesters still worked. The one with the drill didn't seem to notice anything, the machine still whirring away contentedly, but a few of the other men had slowed their pace and kept looking over their shoulders. The blonde woman could taste the suspicion radiating from them, but without a word from the leader or an obvious sign of a problem they would not stop working. They had a quota to fill, after all, and could hardly afford to jump at every last strange hunting party that drifted their way. She turned back to the packs, reaching in once more.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, the investigative little piglet had strayed a little further than he had probably intended from is companions. He kept his flat nose to the ground, snuffling around for little bits of edible root or other hidden treasures, his focus absorbed in his search and before he knew it, he had lost sight of his adoptive parent. There was another figure seven or eight yards in front of him, however. It smelled of animal skins and human life, and though it was larger than most humans, the little striped beast didn't seem to take fear from that; after all, most humans were quite large to his little eight-pound self. He froze, watching the lumbering figure, his domestic nature preventing him from fleeing immediately.