I turned in the direction the arrow had come from, to find my predator. All I could make out was a guy in the shadows of a tree, perched on a branch. And he was quick. Before I could even think of how to react, he leapt down from the tree, tossed his bow to the side, pulled out a knife, and within seconds was just inches from my face with the knife to my neck.
But I wasn’t scared. His face mere inches from mine, the point of a knife just under my chin, yet I wasn’t scared. It was because of his eyes. His eyes, unwavering, told me not to be scared. I could see from his eyes that he had no intentions of killing me. His eyes held a strong gaze, looking deeply into mine, and I could see that he meant no harm; he was confused, shocked by my presence, just trying to figure it out.