Chapter VIII, Reading 4

Drawing from her experience hunting at the higher elevations of the Greyfell Mountains, Flindra knew that the presence of the willow scrub meant that this was good habitat for ptarmigan.  She pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it so she would be ready to fire off a quick shot.  If there were any ptarmigans here they would have been alerted to her presence and were now in hiding.  The birds would have their winter plumage and would be difficult to see against the background of the snow.

She turned upstream for this was the way to Kewero.  Her chances of finding game would be just as good this way and there was little point in riding away.  That would only make for a longer trip home, which was not a comforting prospect in this cold.

Deru was the first to discover the presence of potential game.  He had a good nose and was used to hunting with his mistress.  He stopped with his ears facing toward a dense clump of willow growth some twenty feet ahead.

Without a noise, Flindra raised her bow and scanned the area for any sign of life.  The wind was toying with the naked branches and scattered leaves on the ground.  There were several white feathers caught along a branch close to the ground.  The wind moved these feathers like a flag announcing the presence of the ptarmigan.  It was as if the wind was purposefully betraying the position of the hidden bird.

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.