Achilles had gone into the thicker brush to find and kill another boar, perhaps a young one that he could roast over a spit on a fire at his shelter then cure and dry the meat for the long-term. He moved swiftly and quietly until he spotted someone ahead. Someone, not something, which meant that he sheathed his knife and made himself known as he pushed through the brush and stepped out in front of Mary. He inclined his head at her. "Mary," he said deeply.
She was gathering plants into a basket. He didn't recognize many of the plants on this island, but he was learning which were for eating and which weren't. None had made him ill, however, which made him feel moderately better about the entire situation. No gamemaker trying to poison him. He glanced past her for a moment, to see if she was alone, and then returned his gaze to hers.