There is still far too much about this place that begs for understanding. How and why are the two foremost interrogatives, each followed by a variety of questions. But even more important than that is the question of survival, and it's in that pursuit that Bucky is currently engaged.

Well, kind of.

The woods certainly aren't bare of wildlife. And Bucky is a pretty good hunter, if one classifies assassin as a sort of hunter. What he does know about hunting — hunting-hunting or assassination-hunting — is that knowing one's target makes all the difference. It's such a pursuit that has him out and about today, attempting to track, attempting to learn the movements of the creatures here to determine the most effective manner of hunting. It's easier said than done of course, but patience is something Bucky has in spades.

Making his way through the trees he's not unaware of something flying above. He's noted it of course, though on the two occasions he'd spotted it, it seemed to move too fast for a positive identification of its shape. He's all but put it out of his mind only because hunting anything that flies is too impractical for his limited arsenal.

But it is a sunny enough day, and his left arm is exposed. It's entirely possible, given the correct angle and enough of a break in the trees, that the sun glinting off the prosthetic could attract attention.