She pranced forward with uncanny precision, not making the slightest noise – not even a rustle of the bushes as she moved through them, not even a crunch of the leaves beneath her feather-light feet. Her sharps ears pricked when she heard a faint sound, and she paused momentarily, but her accurate senses told her it was nothing but a stray pixie making the usual racket at nighttime, so she resumed her detour. In her hands, she clutched the longbow, and she was wearing the quiver full of silver arrows over her shoulder like always, ready to attack at the slightest provocation, ready to pounce on her prey like an angry tigress.
The moonlight poured from between the canopy of the tall tress surrounding her, casting a ghostly pearl-like glow on her face as she moved forward, following her intuition like always and trusting her senses, both of which, when it came to hunting, were impeccable. Her eyes were peeled, looking to spot the tiniest movement in the undergrowth, but frustration was building up inside her upon not finding any. She was the Huntress. She was not used to disappointment. Her instinct had never once been wrong. If she had felt there was a prey in this side of the wood, she had to be right.
And then, she heard a rustle from between the bushes six feet away. Ages of training and experience kicked in instantly and she steadied the longbow, drew an arrow from the quiver, nocked it and shot, all of this happening in the blink of an eye. A sharp cry rent the still night air, emanating from the same bushes, and a small smile of triumph tugged at the corners of the Huntress’s lips. She had been right after all.
She then walked down to the bushes and parted them. It was a reindeer she had just hunted. The creature writhed and moaned in agony, whining and crying desperately for help, not realising that help would never come, that this was its end and that the Huntress had no mercy. Crimson blood gushed out of its fresh wounds, where the silver arrow had struck, and slowly, very slowly, the writhing came to a stop and the tormented cries faltered as well. The creature was dead.
The Huntress looked down at it; straight black hair falling to her chin and dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight, betraying no emotion for she had none. She was merciless. She did not feel anything but sheer disappointment upon having hunted only a foal that night. She had hoped for something grand like a unicorn, but all she had managed was a reindeer. It was a disgrace, a sad failure. She needn’t have left her clan to come out this far just for a reindeer. And then, as she stepped over the lifeless body of the creature, not a single crease was seen on her forehead, not a faint bit of regret shone in her eyes, and not a scarce feeling of uneasiness about the innocent life she had just taken.