He hardly ever turned his sights to the trees- to what's above, rather. He knew he should, knew everything was a danger, but it wasn't a habit drilled into his skull quite yet that suspicion had to extend to every damned thing in sight. He had found himself worrying over land mines more times than he cared for though he'd convince himself it wouldn't do any good to stand still with a blood thirsty world spinning around him. So while he had kept his steps as quiet as he could, more in fear for the strange animals he knew were around than for the people (people couldn't hear so well, he figured), Hawkeye still didn't know that noise wasn't always the first give away.

Light was it now. He stops- looks around him, for God's sake, before he realizes with a cold sense of sardonic triumph that the light blocked meant something above. But the trees and their leaves and vines intertwined this way and that and green was a color he was insanely sick of- he steps forward gingerly, not seeing any definite form but knowing running wouldn't buy him time. He knew he wasn't fast. The least he could be was quiet, even if it was absurd.