Soon as she'd caught his eye, seemed like he'd caught her's, with mostly quiet bootsteps through the overgrown weeds, followed by her name wrapped around a smoke and sawdust quality voice. Her hand paused on the wetstone long enough to crane a look over her shoulder; the other archer- or rather, the other one with a crossbow always attached to his back.
"Daryl." The woman smiled in a barely-a-smile kind of way. A friendly enough greeting for mild acquaintance. She'd bought him a drink or two- that was better than some. At his question, the right corner of her lips twitched into her cheek. In grimy water covered fingers, the stone once again slid down the short length of the arrow tip, almost of its own accord.
"Always," she told him in the same, mildly hollow tone he'd asked with. "Got somewhere to be?"