Finn's eyes snapped up to where the sound of cracking twigs reverberated throughout the woods. Standing still, motionless, the girl notched another arrow. Standing slowly, she moved through the trees, her form almost being lost among them. Walking slowly, she judged the forest, and it gave her few answers. A broken twig lied on the floor of the the forest. Looking around, Finn found several more signs. A pushed branch, not yet to its place of origin. Finally, her eyes, attuned to the dark as they were, chanced upon something that did not belong. A bow, a perfectly carved piece of wood, sat at the bottom of a great pine, along with a quiver of arrows. Their forms unmistakable, Finn stalked to the tree's edge. There were scuff marks on the bark, pieces of mud hung along the tree's crags.

Someone was here, and they were phenomenal climbers. Looking up, all Finn could see was the shivering of the tree's branches. Pulling back the arrow that she had already notched, Finn spoke out. "Hey, you up there. Don't hide, I know you're up there. I also know that you were the one who shot the moose. The broken arrow matches those in the quiver down here." Taking a breath between words, Finn continued, her crimson eyes studying the canopy. "I'm willing to share the moose if you come down now."