In a different time, different place, Eva would laugh at that comment. She could feign offense, or brush it off, or find a way to call Hawkeye not such a spring chicken himself. But she refuses to expend the mental energy in even registering his backhanded compliment, much less retorting.

She leaps over a log and grabs the trunk of the tree to swing around his hiding place, slashing downwards with her shiv. It glistens slightly with juices from the poisonous plants around here. A wordless cry bursts out of her chest as she tries to kill him.

Quickly, because she's not a sadist.

Quickly, so she can get to it faster.