Hitting a dive-bombing ball of feathers and fur is harder than it looks - she hits it, but in the chest instead of the head, and it pulls up with an angry shriek mere inches above where its target was seconds before. She grabs a second arrow, and another, nocks them both at once -

- then swings the bow around instinctively as a machine bursts into her line of sight, galloping forward. For a second she wavers - it might have been overridden, and her shooting it would only reset its programming - but she can't tell; it doesn't look like a machine she's ever seen--

She hazards a glance at the person she's inadvertently teamed up with - whether or not she shoots depends in that instant on his reaction.