Fright.

She slipped through the night, stealth coming naturally. A misshapen branch was the only sign to claim an entity had passed. He let out a small gasp and spun around, blade clutched in hand, posture rigid. His slightly narrowed eyes swept the surroundings for any hint of danger but, naturally, she was far to good to leave a trace. True as that may be, his trained eyes and heightened instincts worked in his favor. He could feel changes in the earth that weren't there before. Someone was there- he was sure of it. The night air hummed with content and approval of the presence, deeming it worthy to enter the domain of the forest. This meant nothing to him. Anyone alive in the vicinity was another person not meant to be. She watched him from the branches of the sturdy, old Willow tree, studying his profile. Her long black hair fluttered freely in the night breeze a few strands escaping their elastic band prison, framing her face. The moon was a complete circle of light behind her, obscuring to any passing viewer the finer features of her face. Swiftly in a practiced move, she lept from the tree into a crouch onto the ground. Her hand quickly went to the hunting knife strapped to her ankle. He tensed, though her jump had been virtually soundless to even those with the most acute of hearing, the sudden gush of wind tipped him off. Without another thought, he pounced. Using brute force and superior masculine weight to his advantage, he had her pinned to the ground, one hand pressing the edge of the sword to her neck and the other incapacitating her arms by holding them tightly above her head. The momentum of the collision knocked the wind out of her and her head banged painfully against the very rock it was resting on. Hot flashes of pain licked her skull but when he looked into her eyes - eye contact an important tool in intimidating your prey- all he saw was indignant defiance and raw hate. Though he had her almost completely immobile, she still had flexibility on her side. Wrapping her leg around his hip, she locked her ankle with his pelvis and swung him off her in one fluid movement.  She hit a nerve on the wrist of his sword arm, causing it to jerk open and threw his weapon a few feet away. She used the other hand to press the sharp edge of her hunting knife to his throat, far more aggressively than he had, drawing blood. Their roles were now tactically reversed. She grit her teeth and in a voice that chilled him to the bone whispered, 'I love you. But that doesn't mean I won't kill you.'