"Oh, is that all?"

He looks around, focusing on the trees, until he sees a few round little shapes huddled together - pheasant? Partridge? He's never been good at telling them apart.

"There," he murmurs, then takes aim and looses the arrow. It's not the cleanest kill - the shaft skims a branch on the way there, and the illusory bird is fluttering wildly all the way down - but it's definitely not getting back up again.