But at that time, hunger had already made her lose patience. She looked at that arrow that wobbled but ultimately landed into the snowbank and forcibly convinced herself.
"It's okay, I know its trajectory veers to the left, and I know it sinks after ten meters. As long as I account for these variables, with my skills, I can still hit the target!"
She overly trusted her own meticulously honed archery skills, believing she could rely on her experience to control this imperfect tool.
So, armed with this fatal confidence, she began today's hunt.
As a result, reality slapped her twice across the face, as with the first three targets today, the arrow missed by a hair's breadth every time.
Her professional skills, all her pride and reliance, in this primitive wilderness, due to a small, irreplaceable feathered arrow, became worthless.
Hunger felt like a palpable demon, relentlessly squeezing her stomach.
