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A thin layer of sweat had long settled upon the sun-kissed skin of Eden, the unforgiving touch of the planet's harsh environments offering no mercy to the bounty-hunter. She pays very little attention to the conditions surrounding her, past jobs having made her grow accustomed to uncomfortable situations. Her eyes flicker cautiously between the two living creatures who remain in front of her as they wander through the desert wastelands, her gaze taking great interest in the Mandalorian, whom she doesn't doubt will attempt to kill her when it seems most convenient.
Eden knows that when it comes time for only one bounty hunter to stay standing, she must be the one to shoot first, or she'll never get the chance to do so again. Though such actions were against the guild's code, no honour was held in the task of bounty hunting, despite the attempts of criminals trying to act like they're some kind of hero. In the end, clients never truly care what you must do to accomplish a job, as long as you complete it.
Finding the ship of the Mandalorian alone would be no difficult feat for Eden, as she knows in which direction it lies, and something so large is easy to spot in flat desert lands. She'd intended to steal a ship when venturing to the planet, knowing that eventually, others would come. Killing the Mandalorian, however, would be a task that'd require more time to conquer. It would take time, perhaps some she doesn't have. They are entrapped within a stalemate, each anticipating the attack of the other, ready to kill on cue. She'd have to wait until the man lowers his guard, however long it may take.
But when he does, Eden will strike.
The plan of waiting out the perfect moment does not lower the guard of Eden, as she knows to do so would be a fatal mistake. Her hand hovers over the holster worn upon her waist, the gloved tips of her fingers lightly grazing over the warm metal of her blaster. For a moment her mind debates drawing the weapon and shooting the Mandalorian from behind. Yet, by the way his body appears tense even through the armour, and his finger twitches toward his blaster, she concludes that he would return fire the second she unsheathed her weapon. It is not yet the moment.
A spark of doubt toward the notion of waiting ignites within her when the Mandalorian abruptly halts within his stride, his head tilting to the side, his back remaining to her. Every muscle tenses in her Eden's body as she too freezes, the distant thumping of her heart dancing within her eardrums. Though fear was not the right way to regard her view upon the man, she found herself intimidated by him, for the reason that she could not what lies beneath the armour; what makes him human. In her eyes, he's a machine, one willing to slaughter her at any moment.
