The hunt continues once again. The Russian knew that people tried to invade her woods again. Couldn't they just leave her alone? She knew she had to hunt for the Voice though, as her mother had spoke to her and told her to. Sometimes, when she was really quiet, she could her the whispers of her mother, almost unintelligible Russian falling upon her ears. She was always tempting, always murmuring about taking revenge on anybody who dared to come into her lands. Sometimes she was even torn from her own territory, taken to strange places with large buildings. Some, like the farm, seemed a bit closer to her home than others, but giant metal monsters still roamed that place. She always had a temper tantrum when the Voice took her to a new place, screaming and stomping her foot on the ground. In the midst of her outbursts were her poor prey, which she sometimes let her frustration out on or even let them go because she was so mad at the Voice. Overall, she was overwhelmed by the new maps and people. Sometimes if she was lucky, she would see some of people that were much alike to her. The one she saw most was a creature who called himself Phillip. Phillip was nice, and he was the one that always greeted her with a delightful little bell, teaching her English when he wasn't off hunting prey of his own. She taught him how to play, hunt, and even focus so much on his prey so that the strange red light that glowed from their eyes stopped for a couple seconds. It always threw her prey off. But now was not the time to muse over such things, as a pack of four wandered into her woods once more. She began to prowl, inky black eyes and perked ears searching for whomever was foolish enough to come by. Quickly, she heard the fastened breathing of a man hiding behind a wall. From his scent, she could tell that he was the weasel leader, the meek boy always trying to run away from her. Once he heard her song, his head popped up. Pop goes the weasel. She had an ax prepped just for him, her left arm careening forward to launch a hatchet, catching him in the right shoulder. The momentum propelled him forwards into another ax, which smacked into his thigh. He fell down with a harmless thump. This caused her to break her hum and laugh, excited to place him on the hook. He deserved it, he was the bad man. The Voice said so. Her calming hum resumed as she hefted him onto her shoulder, causing a small yelp from him. Even if he was bad, she hummed to everyone. No one should be worried in their last moments. Suddenly, a familiar voice stopped her just as she was about to put him on the hook.

"Anna, no!"

Meg yelled, which prompted the Huntress to turn around, cocking her head. Why was she calling for her?

"Bad Anna."

The redhead continued. Anna practically gasped, one of her hands flying to her chest at the accusation. Meg didn't know what she was talking about! He was bad, he was- a growl of rage was heard as Dwight began to kick and struggle in her grasp.

"Am not bad! He bad!"

She said incredulously, much to the surprise of the weasel. He had stopped wiggling in surprise. It seemed that she could actually speak. She put him down along with her ax, a frown on her face. Why did Meg think he was good?

"No, Anna. You've been very bad. Now I want you to turn around and apologize to Dwight."

The fox said firmly. Yes, Anna was a killer, but she absolutely hated being called bad. There was two choices: either ignore Meg and tie her up or apologize to the man. If worst came to it, she would have to go for the first option. The hulking woman turned on her heel, looking down at the boy.

"Very sorry."

She muttered bitterly, her arms crossing. She hated to apologize, but her mother had always told her to do so when asked. She didn't like it, and the weasel had a look of shock on his face.

"No way."

He murmured, looking to Meg then Anna.

"Uhh... thank you for apologizing to me."

He replied, the runner nodding encouragingly in the background. The Huntress then turned back to the fox, who smiled. She was happy, which was good. It meant that she did something right.

"Good girl, Anna. If you want, you can show Dwight all your stuff. He wants to see it, right?"

Meg and the Killer looked to the poor man, who weakly shot a thumbs up at the two women. Anna nodded, picking up the bespectacled man before beginning to move back to the dilapidated cabin. He didn't try to struggle, which was good. After walking for a couple minutes, she set him down on the floor, also sitting onto the oaken planks, who creaked to complain.

"Go on, Anna."

Meg said, prompting her to pick up some roughly cut wooden blocks. Most had animals carved upon their surfaces, and some others even had letters of the Russian alphabet. The Huntress hesitantly showed him a couple of her treasures while Meg wrapped bandages around him until he could walk. She definitely didn't trust him, but she did show him her trinkets because Meg asked her to. Anna's humming continued as she silently showed them English children's books that she couldn't read. Many times the woman would hear the fervid thrumming of a finished generator, and the blaring that occurred when the exit gate opened.

"Hey Anna? It was really nice of you to show your stuff to us, but we've gotta go. Claudette is waiting for me."

The runner mentioned. The Huntress frowned, considering keeping Meg before quickly remembering her stern voice and angry stance. She didn't want that, so she stood up, pulling Dwight to his feet. The sounds of humming enveloped the survivor's ears as the rabbit woman walked them towards the door, following them until they ran into the mist. She sat down on the floor in the hallway, her head tilted. After a couple minutes, she heard two pairs of footsteps thundering towards her. It seemed Claudette wanted to say hello. The dark haired girl neared her, still slightly keeping in the mist. Anna stood, her lullaby continuing as she waved back. Once again, she watched them fade until she was sure that they left. Once the girls did, The Huntress walked back to her cabin, sitting on a wooden rocking chair near the hearth of her fire.