Grouse Thicket they say quitters never win, but we walk the plank on a sinking ship

The wind rustled fiercely through the trees, but Grayday only vaguely registered the sound. His focus was centered wholly on his quarry. He'd been tracking the injured grouse for the better part of ten minutes, and he was close now. Close enough to hear the whisper of its feathers as it shook itself out.

He crept forward, taking cover in a broadleaf bush, and craned his neck to get a better view. When his eyes found the grouse, he went very still, breath held. He waited.