Haunted Wood I don't want your crowd

She moved through the bushes, keeping her ears tipped forward to catch all movement, every heartbeat of her prey.
The huntress wanted to relocate that quail. It had already started to fatten for the winter. 

The brushing, whispy footsteps by her side were too loud though. Too fast and heavy. Did the girl know what it was to hunt?
"Soften your steps muchacha​." She wasn't losing a second kill to her insolence.

She spied through the bushes and, lo and behold, there was the rustling. The firm rustle of feathery flapping as the bird righted itself after its fright.
She stopped, frozen at the sound and only prayed the girl did too.