As I was moving in Buŋaanga village I found a fat hornbill.

When I struck it with a catapult, it shouted, "Ŋaa, ŋaa, ŋa!"

The hornbill flew into the air.

But I ran after it through the grass.

Until it perched on a dead tree. Then I shot it again.

This time it fell to the ground.

I picked up the hornbill.

And I gave it to Hiryagaana: one who eats whatever he finds.

He happily received the hornbill.

The head of the hornbill was very big and as hard as a machete.

The bird had fat like that of a sheep.

It was so appetising!

It's not easy to find a hornbill without planning. At night, hornbills roost on dry branches.

A person eats what he likes. That is why Hiryagaana eats hornbills.