He knows it's blood by the smell. And there was a copious amount everywhere- not literally in every direction but his senses would, at the moment, try and argue logic shouldn't argue the direction of anything other than where he'd go next. The obvious answer would be 'away'. Conflict had happened here and it had carried and continued nearby and Hawkeye found himself glad beyond words to have missed the invitation to whatever party went on here. He had had his fill of horror before ever stepping foot in the arena, he didn't want any more.

But the- the trail. The one he'd stumbled on to. It showed a wounded animal- person, he corrects himself- gimping away. He knew nothing, or pathetically little, of tracking but the signs were obvious to even he. Someone had been hurt. It was his job to help if he could. It was logic, finally, that decided he couldn't back away after having followed the trail this far. Ahead there was a form- something Hawkeye couldn't quite make out yet with the distance and dense jungle between them. He slows his steps and lowers himself and feels his heart pound for the first time since he decided to play detective in this game that wasn't his. His foot catches on a root- his next step forward resounds far too loudly.