Eagle held a bow in his hand, an arrow perfectly nocked, marked by experience.

His tribe was growing hungry—it was obvious that, sooner or later, he had to go hunting—and, modestly speaking, he was good at it. Sometimes it was deer, but a good number of rabbits would do as well. They tasted amazing over a fire.

Crouched among some tall bushes, he watched a small doe nibbling on grass, its ears low and relaxed, as if oblivious to the arrow that, in mere seconds, would pierce its neck.

Eagle calmly pulled back the arrow, his movements as careful as possible to avoid any noise. However, just as his fingers were about to release, he saw another arrow from the opposite direction pierce the doe's skull.

In another situation, he might have admired how accurate and well-executed the shot was. However, after hunting for hours only to have someone else steal his food, well, that was a different story.

It didn’t make sense to get upset, considering that the other person most likely didn’t even know Eagle was there, and vice versa.

He emerged from the bushes once more, standing and walking toward where the arrow had come from. "Hey, that was mine," the Native American stated in an authoritative tone, stopping near the dead doe.