Chapter Eight, Reading 7

Even with the wind pointing the direction, it still took her a moment to spot the ptarmigan. Its camouflage was excellent and the bird knew that by keeping still it melted into the background.
Knowing that the bird wouldn't move and reveal its hiding place, Flindra dismounted and walked around the spot so she could get a better shot. It was a waste to kill an animal with a careless shot, which could destroy the meat. Killing to eat was one of the few reasons she felt could justify the death of one of Spirit's creatures.
When she had the best shot possible, she froze in position. She wanted the bird to become less wary for it had been following her movements as she circled. If the ptarmigan relaxed it might raise its head, which would give her a clear shot at the neck. A neck shot would provide a quick death and wouldn't waste any valuable meat. With the patience she had learned from her father and brother, she waited, still as stone, hoping the ptarmigan would forget her presence.
After a wait of about ten minutes, the bird finally relaxed and stood to return to its foraging. The instant it stood, she loosed her arrow and caught it just below its head. It was a good, clean shot and she smiled proudly. Roasted ptarmigan would provide a fine meal for Kewero and herself. She walked over to it and field dressed it on the spot. It was better to share the kill with other animals rather than waste any food. At home, she had always given the entrails to her dogs so there was little wasted from a kill.
Finishing her task, she picked the bird up and retrieved her arrow. It hadn't been damaged and would serve her another day. Then she returned to Deru, tied the ptarmigan to her saddle, slipped the arrow back into her quiver, and mounted. It was time to return to her mentor.