Her strength was fading, and the initial resolve and courage were slowly being eroded by the harsh reality. Each time she approached a bush with hope, only to find after brushing aside the snow that it was just an oddly-shaped tree knot.
Every time she held her breath to listen, all she heard was the increasingly loud growling of her stomach due to hunger and the "buzzing" sound of blood moving through her ears.
A familiar feeling of futility began to wrap tightly around her. She had to admit that today's hunt seemed doomed to end in failure, with nothing to show for her efforts.
Dejected, she leaned against a massive pine tree and placed the heavy recurved bow in the snow, letting her full weight rest. She was ready to take a short rest, then prepare to return to the shelter.
She didn't even dare to think about what would happen tomorrow after she finished the last bit of mussels. Would she really have to surrender to the cruelest "white disaster" year?
