Finnick, his senses already on the alert of any survivor of the arena, turns, sharply, knife and spear both raised. It only takes a moment for him to realize the man's not posing an immediate threat, but it is a moment, a moment of intense green stare with too much sudden tension in it.

That his approach is just bad timing is apparent quickly, though, and Finnick lets his hand relax a little on the spear, letting its haft lower until he's not actually pointing it at the man.

He nods, letting his head tilt towards the dead deer.

"Go ahead."