Aloy knows that hunting is often a matter of patience—-setting traps, moving into an optimal location, watching the patterns of the machine. Animals, here, but in the end it’s really no different. She’s appreciative of the quiet as they move through the woods, and Altaïr seems every bit a professional. Quiet, efficient.

That said, she hasn’t yet put him to the test, though it seems such a thing is imminent when she hears a noise. She glances at Altaïr—-it seems he hears it too, so she doesn’t want to waste any time.

Ducking into the nearest bush, she motions for him to follow him, peering out of the leaves to see what might be ahead of them.