"I called you a hunter," Artemis pointed out, though she was pleased by the slight widening of Marian's eyes. It had been a while since anyone had recognised her for who she was. Longer still since any had understood.
(Kallisto had been the last, and that was a few years ago now. They'd shared a cabin in Alaska for a couple of winters, hunting bears and scaling the most remote peaks together. But Kallisto had turned quiet and moody. She'd started pressing Artemis with questions, and when the answers hadn't been the ones she wanted she'd begun spending longer and longer stretches away from the cabin. Eventually, she hadn't returned.)
"And you are," she added, eyeing Marian with mild appraisal. "Sherwood Forest, right?" She had some loose memory of the stories, a band of English outlaws who lived in the woods, poaching deer and robbing the rich. She'd even spent some time hunting in Sherwood, though she'd never crossed paths with any immortals there. Certainly none quite so intriguing as this oak-and-spring-blossoms huntress. "You're good. Would've taken me longer to catch onto you if wasn't for the immortal thing."