As the two magicless women carried on, Mary idly looked over one of the carcasses, hearing Mildred's wondering. She offered a casual shrug of indecisiveness, and dismissively mentioned "Salt the meat." It seemed fairly obvious that the meat of the bird ought to be used for something. The Sergeant knew they wouldn't be staying here long, so stewing it or more properly preparing it was probably out of the question. It would just have to serve as rations, if something pulled their squad away from supply lines. Being prepared to survive was an important part of scouting. Beyond the preservation of the meat, though, she wasn't familiar enough with the anatomy of the fleshpecker to know if anything else in its little body would be of use. Considering its size, she suspected not. The feathers would make good insulation, but that would take time and pack space they probably didn't have, and this didn't seem like the sort of place where insulation was necessary.<br/><br/>Once at the tent, Mary would get to work, plucking and cleaning the corpse, and helping Mildred extract the iron bits from the beaks and a few wings. Throughout the process, the blonde sharpshooter remained mostly silent, casually tearing the once voracious beast asunder with a hunting knife. She was rarely the one to start conversation, and just as rarely the one to keep it going. It wasn't that she didn't like Mildred at all; merely that she was a woman of sparing words. She did casually hum a shanty as she worked, marking her for the aircrew she was at heart.