The last time Clint ran amok in the forest, things hadn't really gone well for him. But the longer the Arena drags on, the harder it gets. Water's hard to come by, and food's dwindled down too in these past weeks. Sponsorship can only go so far. They've still got to try to survive though, even if only one of the people here will come through this game alive. So despite his injury, Clint's out and about, Sam at his side, as they check on some traps they'd set. It's not the first time, and given the lack of trouble, they've seen fit to go further and further, chasing any trail of potential food. Maybe it's not the best idea, but they're sort of armed, and hopefully working together they're enough to take on an attacker.

And if not, hopefully they've proved interesting enough to be brought back.

Whatever the case is, they're picking their way through the forest, careful and quick. There's something unnerving about the forest, and maybe that's just the ache in his missing limb speaking, but Clint's on edge, scanning the surroundings with a gaze as sharp as his namesake. He shifts, signs quickly, if clumsily, having lost half a measure of his meaning with his hand.

"Up ahead?"