"Woody!" Mrs. exclaimed gleefully, throwing her arms around the skinny man. She squeezed him lightly in an affectionate manner. "How ya’ been, tatter tot?" It was always nice to meet up with ol’ chums, especially when it was Woody — the rough ‘n tumblin’ sheriff she knew so dearly.
“‘m sorry abou’ tha’,” Merida mumbled, cheeks flustered. “I was jus’ practicin’ m’ aim an’ I d’nae- I d’nae see ye comin’,” She was genuinely apologetic, though a small grin tugged at the corner of her lips at the humor of what had happened.
Across from them a stetson hung from a wiry tree limb, embedded in the bark by an arrow.