As the others began there descent into the maze, Weston was busy scoured the trees. He was well camouflaged; every part of him was covered in a thick brown paint that matched him with the bark of the trees. However, one thing did make him stand out--the blood markings he had drawn onto his face and his bleeding wrist. Healing is wounded wrist now wasn't part of his plan. He held a couple paintballs in his hand. They were not there original glossy orange, but now they were a deep rich red. "Let's just see if I can't nail me a harpy. If I do miss her, I still have a chance of my blood spraying on her," he said quietly smiling.