Instantly he drops to a crouch, setting down the branch and pulling out a knife. With a quick glance to Wrathion, he's moving forward. The forest floor's damp and quiet, and this close to the ground, he's less worried about traps. What he's more worried about is controlling line of sight. If whatever's over there sees him before he can see it...

He manages a glimpse through a thicket. Unfamiliar locals. Raw and hungry-looking. That'll be them. He keeps eyes-on, pulling out his translator and scribbling a note to Wrathion, a tense little edge of excitement rising.

Two, armed, heading NW. Not on alert. I'm moving in.

He starts moving again, heading in to intercept. Matching the loose tempo of their footsteps, keeping alert. They won't be formally trained, but this could still go wrong if he doesn't get the timing just right...