Jacob’s quiet threats remain a continual thing, watching as the other man gets tenser and tenser. He could pass for colored stone after a few more seconds and the Quileute’s wondering if he’s going to break his jaw from just how hard he’s clenching his mouth shut. But there’s no fear… On guard. Irritated. But no fear. Someone’s brave. Or stupid. Large paws pad silently over the bed of pine needles, crushing them under step, claws gripping at the ground below the tan lines. Should he attack… should he not? He’s confident he can get to him before that bow comes back up.

Brown eyes linger on the man, sizing him up and noting one thing after another, trying to figure him out before offering anything else. That black mark on the side of his neck is impossible to miss, diving below the clothing and suggesting it definitely continues further down. Finally, he’s had enough and turns to face the man fully, muscles rippling under his coat. Best option is to just lunge at him, go for the jugular, and hope the man passes out from sheer tension.

Until that bow sinks.

Jacob’s ears, flattened before, slowly twitch in surprise as the drawstring slides along the arrow, releasing the tension. He’s lowering his weapon? Obviously. But for what? It’s unlikely it’s a trick from the look on the stranger’s face. Not that he wants to risk taking an arrow to the face or shoulder or wherever. But… the action just now is peaceful.

And then he starts to talk. A demon? Jacob wants to snort at that, but his own life stares him in the face. What if… what if everything’s true? The scent all over the mountain, Alice’s blurry vision, a white light around a black unknown. Damn it…

The wolf eases up from the crouch, ears lifting from the aggressive fold back to a normal stand. Snarls fade and Jacob merely peers at the man, tentatively relaxing his stance. Then steps forward, not aggressive, but more suggesting a willingness to listen.