The arrow is in the ground, but there's no feet for them to have stopped... not at first glance, anyway. Then an acorn comes flying down to smack her somewhere, shoulder or head or arm, whatever's easiest to hit. Glaring down at her from up in the trees is... a raccoon. A very large raccoon, in clothes, with what looks like a homemade gun slung across his back.

"Watch where you're shootin', humie," he growls.

Yes, the raccoon just spoke.