"There are some moving targets," Clint said, scaling down the tree with grace what would have made someone's mother proud. Not his, but whatever. "But they're, you know. Animals. And those only get got for dinner, not fun." Because that'd be weird and creepy. Also, Clint wasn't fantastically happy about shooting them even to eat them.
But needs must, or whatever.
He held his bow loose over his shoulders and made the short distance up to the other guy, offering a crooked smile full of boyish charm. "Nice shooting, man, really."