He started to turn, having heard my breathing, no doubt. My right hand went under his chin, pushing up. By instinct, he swung at my and pulled his head up and back. He was tall and his fist sailed over my ducked head and the knife in my left hand cut through his exposed throat. Cutting a person's throat is noisey.
Air tends to rush through the cut wind pipe and make bubbling screams in the dying's blood.
I was running before he even hit the ground. I knew instantly that he wouldn't get up again. Seconds later I was behind the trees. I took ten seconds to make sure I had gathered everything. The ground was slightly depressed around my station, but nothing to point to me.